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DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER 


BV 


HENRY  GREVILLE 


TRANSLATED    BY 

CLARA    ERSKINE    CLEMENT 


BOSTON 

TICKNOR     AND     COMPANY 
1886 


^^ 


Copyright,   1885 
By   TICKNOR   AND   COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


PRESS    OF 

ROCKWELL    AND    CHURCHILL 

BOSTON 


TO 

JHg  American  JFrienbg, 

KNOWN  AND   UNKNOWN, 

I     DEDICATE     THIS     BOOK, 

WRITTEN    FOR    THEM, 

WITH     MY     HEARTY     THANKS 

FOR 

THEIR    KIND    WELCOME. 

HENRY    GREVILLE. 
Boston,  Nov.  34,  1885. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Twenty  Years  of  Married  Life,  i  i 

11.  Confessions    ........  40 

III.  The  Forest  Burns *J2 

IV.  The  Bears 103 

V.     Sorrows 153 

VI.     Alone 154 

VII.     A  New  Experience 181 

VIII.     Seeking  a  Situation 221 

IX.     At  Service 234 

X.     At  Sourova 241 

XL  Teaching  of  Every  Kind    .     .     .  252 

XII.     A  New  Experiment 271 

XIII.     Walking 2S3 


DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER 


DOSIA^S   DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER   I. 

TWENTY  YEARS   OF  MARRIED    LIFE. 

**"\  /"OUR  health,  my  dear  friends,  and  may 
-'-  you  see  many  happy  returns  of  the 
day !  "  said  Pierre  Mourief,  raising  his  glass, 
filled  to  the  brim  with  champagne,  to  the  level 
of  his  eyes. 

The  hosts  rose  and  replied  to  Mouriefs  toast 
with  their  usual  good  grace ;  the  children  came 
and  kissed  their  parents ;  all  left  their  places ; 
kisses  and  handshakings  without  number  were 
exchanged,  and  finally  every  one  returned  to 
his  seat.  A  short  silence  followed,  while  all 
the  company  looked  at  each  other  with  smiles 


12  POSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

of  content.  The  servants  took  the  opportunity 
to  remove  the  knives  and  forks,  and  replace  the 
chafing-dishes  by  a  well-ordered  dessert. 

It  was  a  handsome  table,  superbly  arranged ; 
everything  on  it  gave  proof  of  a  tasteful  and 
long-established  luxury ;  there  were  no  fragile, 
fanciful  things,  but  massive  silverware  and  thick 
Bohemian  glass,  though  from  the  ceiling  was 
suspended  a  wreath  of  globes  from  which  hung 
bunches  of  leaves  and  flowers,  that  swayed  to 
and  fro  above  the  table;  the  traditional  lamp 
was  replaced  by  a  chandelier  full  of  candles, 
and  it  all  had  a  peculiarly  aerial  air,  quite  in- 
dividual, and  of  a  character  not  to  be  found 
elsewhere. 

"  You  are  looking  at  our  ceiling,"  said  Platon 
Sourof  to  his  brother-in-law  Pierre.  "  It  is  an 
idea  of  Dosia's." 

"  A  good  idea;  but  one  must  be  in  one's  own 
house  in  order  to  execute  it.  My  landlord  at 
Petersburg  would  make  a  great  to-do  if  I 
pleased  myself  by  making  a  dozen  holes  like 


TWENTY   YEARS  OF  MARRIED   LIFE.       13 

that  in  his  stucco  ceiling !  But  it  is  very 
pretty." 

"Dosia  has  only  good  ideas,"  added  Madame 
Mourief,  smiling  at  her  sister-in-law. 

"You  did  not  say  the  same  of  me  when  I 
was  a  young  girl !  "  exclaimed  Madame  Sourof, 
laughing.  "  I  don't  believe  there  ever  was  a 
girl  on  earth  more  scolded  than  I !  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  said  a  sulky  voice  at  the  other 
extremity  of  the  table ;   "  I  am  !  " 

A  general  laugh  resounded  so  gayly  that  the 
ivy  wreaths  began  to  dance  above  the  guests, 
and  the  complainer  could  not  help  laughing 
too. 

"You,  Ania?"  said  Uncle  Pierre,  putting 
his  eye-glass  to  his  eye,  in  order  to  look  at  his 
niece,  who  lowered  her  eyes  with  a  vexed  air, 
in  spite  of  an  involuntary  movement  which  still 
raised  the  corner  of  her  mouth.  "  Why,  you  ! 
You  were  born  to  be  scolded !  " 

"  I  perceive  it,"  replied  Agnes. 

She  was   crimson,  and  ready  to  get  angry; 


14  POSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

but,  raising  her  eyes,  she  met  her  Aunt  Sophie 
Mouriefs  glance,  and  her  ill-humor  vanished 
at  once.  Aunt  Sophie  had  a  way  of  smiling  at 
you  so  sweetly  that  it  went  to  your  heart,  what- 
ever might  be  the  matter  with  you.  Agnes 
held  out  against  her  mother  sometimes,  but 
never  against  her  Aunt  Sophie. 

"  She  is  a  second  Dosia,"  said  General  Bara- 
nine,  laughing. 

"  General !  "  exclaimed  Madame  Sourof.  "  I 
think  you  are  wanting  in  respect  towards  me." 

Laughter  ran  again  around  the  table. 

"  It  is  not  my  fault,"  continued  the  old 
friend  of  the  family,  "  if  your  originalities  have 
illustrated  the  name;  you  bear,  my  dear,  the 
burden    of  glory." 

"  Oh !  "  sighed  Dosia,  "  it  is  so  long  since 
I  was  young," 

Here  the  shouts  of  laughter  were  so  loud 
that,  for  some  time,  no  one  could  hear  any- 
thing else.     Agnes  alone  did  not  laugh. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  thought  she,    "  why 


TWENTY   YEARS   OF  MARRIED  LIFE.       1 5 

they  find  so  droll  in  mamma  the  same  things 
which   they  blame  in  me  !  " 

But  she  remained  silent. 

Dosia's  face,  indeed,  contradicted  her  words 
in  a  most  striking  manner.  It  was  easy  to  see 
that  twenty  years  ago  she  had  been  extremely 
pretty.  The  passing  years  had  somewhat 
altered  her  former  childlike  charms,  but  she 
was  beautiful  now;  her  complexion  had  re- 
tained the  pearl-like  freshness  of  youth,  and 
her  eyes  shone  as  brightly  as  ever. 

"  Dosia,"  said  Pierre  Mourief,  "  it  is  twenty 
years  ago  to-day  since  you  married  my  good 
friend  Platon;  do  you  remember  the  year 
before?" 

"  I  should  think  so,"  answered  Madame  Sou- 
rof,  blushing  slightly. 

"  Do  you  know  that  it  was  exactly  a  year 
before  the  same  date  that  we  ran  away 
together?" 

"  Carrying  with  you,  for  all  your  luggage, 
two  oranges  and  a  jar  of  sweetmeats,  tied  up 


l6  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

in  a  handkerchief,"  added  Platon,  with  a  sat- 
isfied air. 

"A  year?  day  for  day?  No,  I  did  not 
know  it.  I  didn't  make  a  note  of  it,"  replied 
Dosia,  with  a  disdainful  manner. 

"  That,  Pierre,  is  for  you,"  said  the  good 
Sophie,  complacently. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  wife,  that  is  a  hard  blow  to 
my  vanity.  But  tell  me,  Dosia,  if  I  had  not 
brought  you  back  that  day,  what  would  have 
happened? " 

Madame  Sourof's  eyes  sparkled  so  that  it 
•seemed  to  her  friends  that  they  saw  her  again 
just  as  she  was  twenty  years  before. 

"  What  would  have  happened,  my  dear 
brother?  "  she  replied  with  vivacity;  "  ask  your 
right  cheek,  for  I  think  the  slap  you  received 
that  day  was  on  your  left  one." 

At  this  her  guests  burst  out  laughing  to- 
gether, including  Agnes.  She  was  not  sorry  to 
know  that  her  Uncle  Pierre,  who  was  always 
teasing  her,  had  received  a  slap  on  the  face  one 


TWENTY  YEARS   OF  MARRIED  LIFE.       1/ 

fine  morning  from  her  mamma,  who  was  always 
scolding. 

"  A  slap,  Uncle  Pierre?"  said  she,  when  calm 
was  restored. 

"  Yes,  my  niece." 

"  Pierre  !  "  murmured  Dosia ;  "  before  the 
children,  I  think  that"  .  .  . 

Madame  Mourief  glanced  at  her  sister-in-law 
with  her  tranquil  look. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  it  is  far  better  that 
children  should  not  have  any  cause  to  suspect 
mysteries  in  the  lives  of  their  parents." 

Dosia  acquiesced  with  a  sign  of  her  head,  as 
did  also  her  husband. 

Pierre,  who  had  followed  this  conversation 
without  seeming  to  take  notice  of  it,  turned 
towards  his  young  niece,  ready  to  receive  her 
attacks. 

"  Tell  me,  uncle,  did  the  slap  hurt  you?  " 

"  My  niece,  look  at  your  mother's  pretty 
little  hands,  and  answer  the  question  yourself." 

Agnes  looked  at  her  own  hands  and  shook 


1 8  DOS/A 'S   DAUGHTER. 

her  head.  She  knew  by  experience  that  a  slap 
from  those  slim  fingers  had  more  than  once 
drawn  a  groan  from  her  big  brother,  a  few 
years  before. 

"And,  uncle,  will  you  have  the  kindness  to 
tell  me  what  effect  it  had  upon  you  ?  "  she  re- 
plied. 

"Ania!"  said  her  brother,  in  a  low  tone  of 
reproach. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  which  was  her 
usual  way  of  replying  to    observations. 

"The  effect?"  said  Pierre;  "well,  it  was 
rather  curious,  and  very  pleasant.  The  result 
was  this :  I  married  your  Aunt  Sophie,  and 
your  mother  married  my  friend  Platon." 

Ania  looked  at  her  parents  in  turn  with  a 
perplexed  and  somewhat  incredulous  air. 

"  I  will  tell  you  about  it,"  said  Sophie  Mou- 
rief  to  her  niece.  "  Nothing  is  so  simple,  you 
will  see." 

"  What  your  aunt  could  not  tell  you,  my 
dear,"  added  Dosia,  "  is    of  the  extraordinary 


TWENTY   YEARS   OF  MARRIED    LIFE.       19 

kindness  she  has  shown  to  me,  and  the  deep 
affection  which  her  brother,  your  father,  my 
child,  deserved  and  has  won.  .  .  .  There  is 
no  one  in  the  world  better  than  your  father, 
except  it  may  be  his  sister." 

Tears,  which  she  discreetly  held  back,  gave 
to  Dosia's  eyes  all  their  juvenile  brilliancy, 
while  she  rose  from  the  table,  giving  the  signal 
to  disperse.  Platon  joined  his  wife  and  kissed 
her  hand  fervently.  He  had  loved  her  deeply, 
with  her  faults,  as  a  girl ;  and  now,  when  she  had 
become  a  wife  and  mother,  full  of  estimable 
qualities,  he  loved  her  still  better,  and  more 
and  more  every  day.  Their  love,  like  every 
deep  and  sincere  affection,  was  destined  to 
grow  till  the  end  of  their  lives. 

Aunt  Sophie  laid  her  hand  on  Agnes's 
shoulder  and  led  her  gently  towards  a  corner 
of  the  drawing-room,  which  was  shut  off  from 
intruders  by  a  sort  of  carved  wooden  screen, 
ornamented  with  trailing  plants.  They  both 
sat  down  on  a  small  sofa,  while  the  other  guests 


20  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

grouped  themselves  in  the  large,  brilliantly 
lighted  room. 

"Do  you  remember  your  grandmother?" 
asked  Sophie. 

"  Mamma's  mother?  Yes,  I  remember  her. 
She  was    always  out  of  spirits," 

"  She  is  dead,"  said  Madame  Mourief, 
gently.  "  Well,  her  character  did  not  at 
all  enable  her  to  understand  your  moth- 
er's "  — 

"  I  should  think  so !  mamma  so  gay,  and 
brilliant,  and  funny  —  and  grandmother  so  tire- 
some !  " 

**  Let  us  not  speak  of  her,  since  she  no 
longer  lives,"  insisted  Sophie.  "  But  you  can 
understand,  can  you  not?  Your  mother  could 
not  be  very  happy  with  her." 

A  very  significant  nod  of  the  head  showed 
that  Agnes  understood  perfectl}'-. 

"Well,  one  day  more  unlucky  than  others, 
your  mother  was  so  vexed  that  she  could  not 
bear  it." 


TWENTY  YEARS  OF  MARRIED  LIFE.      21 

"What  had  she  done?"  asked  Agnes,  curi- 
ously. 

An  impulse  to  laugh  showed  itself  in 
Sophie's  face,  but  she  restrained  herself  and 
remained  serious. 

"There  was  a  story  about  a  dog,  if  I 
remember  well,  but  that  has  no  impor- 
tance "  — 

"  O  aunt !  pray  tell  me  about  it  I  " 

"  I  don't  remember  it  very  distinctly.  How- 
ever, it  seems  to  me  that  Dosia  had  installed 
in  her  bed  an  enormous  dog,  with  a  morning- 
jacket  and  a  night-cap  on." 

"  Oh  !  I  know.     Sultan  !  " 

"  Exactly.  One  of  your  aunts  was  sleep- 
ing in  the  same  room.  She  took  fright  and 
screamed  " — 

"  My  horrid  aunts !  I  am  delighted.  I 
would  like  to  know  which  of  them  it  was. 
But  I  hate  them  all,  one  as  much  as  the  other," 
said  the  young  girl,  laughing  till  she  rolled  on 
the  sofa. 


22  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  Dosia  was  scolded,  and  the  dog  was 
beaten  "  — 

"  Poor,  dear  thing  !  " 

"  My  husband,  who  was  then  only  your 
mother's  cousin,  happened  to  be  there.  Dosia 
wanted  to  leave  her  mother's  house,  and  did,  in 
fact,  leave  with  him ;  but  she  had  not  gone  a 
versf  before  she  realized  how  foolish  she  had 
been.  Pierre  was  not  pleased.  He  received 
the  memorable  slap  of  which  they  were  talking 
just  now,  and  he  took  your  mother  back  to  her 
home." 

"  And,  of  course,  she  was  scolded  still  more 
than  before?" 

"You  must  confess  that  she  deserved  it." 

"  That  depends,"  replied  Agnes,  with  a  know- 
ing air.     "  And  then?  " 

"  Then,  a  little  while  after,  my  brother  met 
Dosia;  he  had  heard  Pierre  speak  of  her. 
They  were  friends;  we  all  made  each  other's 
acquaintance,  and  it  ended  by  our  two  mar- 
riages." 


TWENTY   YEARS  OF  MARRIED  LIFE.      23 

Agnes  remained  in  deep  meditation. 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking?  "  asked  her  aunt. 

"  I  am  thinking  that,  if  I  had  left  the  house 
like  that,  I  would  not  have  gone  back  to  it  in 
a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"  You  would  have  done  wrong,"  replied 
Sophie,  in  her  kind,  commanding  way.  "  But 
your  mother,  capricious  as  she  was  at  that 
time,  was  really  unhappy  on  account  of  her 
sisters.  You  are  the  very  happiest  of  young 
girls ;  there  is,  therefore,  no  analogy  whatever 
between  the  two  situations." 

"  You  are  an  excellent,  dear  aunt,"  replied 
Agnes,  kissing  Madame  Mourief. 

A  few  moments  after,  she  joined  her  brother, 
who  had  sought  refuge  in  a  corner,  with  two 
or  three  young  people,  his  youngest  sister  and 
his  friend  Ermile  Drakof.  They  were  very 
merry  in  the  little  group,  where  they  made  a 
place  for  Agnes. 

Ermile  was  a  tall  fellow,  somewhat  heavy, 
and  with  broad  shoulders,  which  had  already 


24  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

caught  a  slight  bend  from  a  habit  of  leaning 
over    his    books,    although    he    was    scarcely 
twenty-five   years   old.      One   could    see   from 
his  appearance  that  he  was  simple-hearted,  of 
an    upright   character,    and    an    enemy   to    all 
deceit.       His    clothes,   which   were   very    neat, 
bore   that    individual    stamp    peculiar   to    men 
who  care  for  their  toilet  as  a  duty  only,  and 
not  as  a  pleasure.     There  was  nothing  striking 
about  him,  and    one  could  have  met  him   fre- 
quently   without     remarking    him ;    but     once 
having    noticed  him    one   could  not  fail  to  be 
attracted,    and,    having    once    conversed    with 
him  for  an   hour,  to  be  desirous  of  becoming 
his  friend. 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  give  us  a  little  music, 
Miss  Agnes?  "  said  he. 

Agnes  at  first  looked  a  refusal,  and  then 
relented ;  for,  in  truth,  she  was  very  fond  of 
playing. 

"  I  am  willing,"  she  replied,  "  only  you  must 
play  with  me." 


TWENTY  YEARS  OF  MARRIED  LIFE.      25 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  happy,"  murmured 
Ermile,  and  he  hurried  to  open  the  piano. 

They  both  played  very  well :  Agnes  with 
more  caprice  and  brio;  he  with  faultless  surety 
and  excellent  taste.  Separately  they  would 
certainly  not  have  obtained  such  satisfactory 
results  as  when  playing  together,  for  they  cor- 
rected each  other's  faults,  and  their  good  quali- 
ties appeared  to  better  advantage  from  contrast. 

The  company  listened  but  inattentively,  and 
the  general  conversation  followed  its  course ; 
it  mattered  little  to  them,  however,  for  they 
loved  music  enough  for  itself  to  find  pleasure 
in  playing  without  preoccupying  themselves 
about  applause. 

"  How  well  they  play  together,"  said  Pierre 
Mourief.  Platon  looked  at  his  charming 
daughter  with  a  paternal  pride  that  was  very 
justifiable. 

"She  is  a  good  musician,"  said  he;  "she 
can  do  whatever  she  wishes  to  do.  What  a 
pity  that  she  is  so  hard  to  manage !  " 


26  DOSJA'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  She   belongs   to  the  family,"  said    Pierre. 

He  loved  his  sister-in-law  very  sincerely; 
but  from  their  perpetual  quarrels  and  makings- 
up,  in  the  days  of  their  childhood  and  youth, 
they  had  retained  an  inveterate  habit  of  teas- 
ing each  other. 

"Yes,"  replied  Dosia;  "but  I  was  not  so 
rough  "  — 

"  Oh ! "  said  Pierre,  touching  his  cheek 
in  so  droll  a  way  that  they  all  three 
smiled. 

"  I  mean,"  continued  Madame  Sourof,  "  that 
I  did  not  have  that  somewhat  rude  firmness 
which  I  regret  to  see   in  my  daughter." 

"  That,"  interrupted  Pierre,  "  is  one  of  her 
father's  virtues,  which  has  been  slightly  modi- 
fied by  transmission." 

"You  can  laugh  at  me,"  said  Platon;  "you 
know  it  will  not  make  me  angry;  but  it  is 
nevertheless  true  that  at  times  Agnes  evinces 
something  ascetic,  so  to  speak,  which  makes 
me  anxious  for  her  future." 


TWENTY   YEARS   OF  MARRIED  LIFE.       2/ 

"Wait  a  bit,  till  she  wants  to  marry,  and 
then  you  will  see !  " 

"  Precisely,  I  see  her  just  as  severe  to  her- 
self as  she  is  to  others,  and  I  don't  know  what 
will  come  of  it.  Kola  was  made  in  another 
mould." 

"  Oh !  Kola,  he  is  perfection,"  said  Dosia, 
throwing  complacently  a  mother's  glance'  upon 
her  son,  who  was  occupied  at  the  time  in  ex- 
plaining to  the  children  the  complicated  mech- 
anism of  a  toy.  "  He  is  good,  he  is  patient, 
he  is  well-behaved.  He  is  the  picture  of  his 
father !  " 

"  A  hit !  "  said  Platon,  laughing.  "  Well, 
Agnes  is  not  the  picture  of  her  mother,  and 
it  is  really  a  pity." 

"  I  used  to  be  very  terrible,  though,"  replied 
Dosia;  "I  even  think,  were  it  necessary, I  could 
be  so  again.  The  old  Adam  is  not  yet  dead  in 
me!" 

"  Mamma,  aunt,  will  you  let  us  dance?  "  cried 
the   children    and    young    people,    all    in    one 


28  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

breath,    running   towards    the    mistress    of  the 
house. 

"  As  much  as  you  please,"  replied  Dosia. 
Ermile  and  Agnes  had  just  struck  the  final 
chord.  The  young  girl  left  the  piano  with  a 
sulky  air.  She  did  not  like  dancing.  The 
young  man,  seeing  what  they  all  desired,  turned 
round  on  the  piano-stool,  which  he  had  not  left, 
and  began  one  of  Strauss's  most  brilliant  waltzes. 
Immediately  all  the  company,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  some  venerable  personages  seated  round 
the  whist-tables,  commenced  dancing  in  the 
lofty,  cool  drawing-room,  where  the  breeze  of 
a  soft  summer  night  came  through  the  open 
windows. 

Mademoiselle  Titof,  who  had  educated  the 
girls,  came  and  sat  by  Agnes,  who  was  not 
dancing.  "  Wouldn't  you  like  to  dance  ?  "  said 
she.  "  See  how  gay  they  all  are !  Your 
mother  does  not  look  twenty  years  old  to- 
night." 

"  And    I    feel  as    if  I    were    sixty,"    replied 


TWENTY   YEARS   OF  MARRIED  LIFE.       29 

Agnes,  in  a  curt  tone.  "  It  disgusts  me  to  see 
people  act  so  youthful  when  they  have  not  a 
hair  on  their  heads  !  I  don't  say  that  for  mamma, 
nor  for  my  father,  or  Aunt  and  Uncle  Mourief." 
She  hastened  to  add :  "  They  are  good-natured 
and  jolly,  and  I  am  glad  of  everything  that 
gives  them  pleasure." 

"  You  don't  look  so  !  "  said  her  brother  as  he 
passed  her,  waltzing  with  Ermile's  sister. 

Agnes  did  not  deign  to  reply. 

"  What  disgusts  me  is  to  see  grave  people, 
like  General  Baranine,  who  ought  to  know 
better —  Well,  it  seems  the  world  is  happy 
so." 

"Miss  Agnes,  will  you  give  me  a  turn?" 
asked  Ermile,  bowing  before  her.  An  old  lady 
had  taken  his  place  at  the  piano. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  displeased  air,  but 
his  face  was  so  kind,  and  he  seemed  so  dis- 
posed not  to  dance  again  that  evening  if  she 
exacted  it,  that  she  rose  slowly  and  let  herself 
be  carried  off  in  the  whirl.     They  had  not  gone 


30  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

half-way  round  the  room  when  she  perceived 
a  little  boy  and  girl,  about  twelve  years  old, 
who  were  obstinately  turning  round  in  a  cor- 
ner, with  a  helpless  air,  being  unable  to  get 
outside  a  rampart  some  chairs  made  about 
them. 

She  at  once  left  her  partner,  seized  the  small 
boy,  and  threw  the  little  girl  into  Ermile's 
arms,  saying  to  him :  — 

"  Let  us  make  two  people  happy !  " 

In  less  than  a  second  after  she  was  whirling 
madly  at  the  other  end  of  the  drawing-room. 
A  French  window,  opening  on  the  balcony 
that  went  round  the  house,  being  close  at  hand, 
Agnes  cried  out :  — 

"  Let  us  go  outside ;  let  us  go  out  in  the 
moonlight !  " 

Her  voice,  as  clear  as  the  sound  of  a  bell, 
rang  to  the  very  end  of  the  room ;  all  the 
dancers  ran  down  the  five  or  six  steps  that  led 
to  the  gravelled  garden,  and  without  losing 
time  began  to  waltz  in  good  order. 


TWENTY   YEARS  OF  MARRIED  LIFE.       3  I 

"  A  polonaise !  "  cried  Pierre  Mourief,  in  a 
loud  voice,  "  and  let  us  lead  the  dance  gayly !  " 

Mademoiselle  Titof  heard  him.  The  old  lady- 
gave  up  her  place  to  her,  and  a  brilliant 
polonaise,  played  so  as  to  make  the  very  trees 
dance,  resounded  in  the  large,  empty,  and 
splendidly  illuminated  drawing-room.  The 
imperturbable  whist-players  did  not  even  per- 
ceive the  change.  Pierre  had  taken  his  sister- 
in-law's  hand,  and  led  her  with  a  solemn  air 
to  the  head  of  the  column  of  dancers.  Couple 
after  couple  ranged  themselves  in  line,  and, 
marking  the  time,  they  made  the  round  of  the 
house.  The  flower-beds,  lit  up  by  the  first 
rays  of  the  full  moon,  embalmed  the  air. 

They  had  begun  by  laughing,  and  then  a 
certain  gravity  spread  over  the  merry  com- 
pany. The  penetrating  odors  of  heliotrope  and 
mignonette,  the  calm  beauty  of  the  landscape 
bathed  in  a  soft,  transparent  mist,  which  the 
moon  penetrated  with  a  milky  light,  and  a 
certain    indescribable    melancholy   inspired  by 


32  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

the    night,   awoke   some  poetic    feeling  in  the 
most  prosaic  minds. 

"  What  a  night,  Dosia !  "  said  Pierre,  as  he 
led  the  column.  "  What  a  pity  we  are  no 
longer  young !  " 

"We  live  our  own  youth  again  in  our 
children,"  replied  his  sister-in-law,  with  a  touch 
of  sadness. 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  not  ourselves  !  Do  they  even 
know  how  to  be  young?  We  were  really  so. 
Bah !  we  are  so  still,"  continued  he.  "  Fie 
upon  sadness !  Change  ladies !  "  cried  he, 
in  a  strong  voice,  and  clapped  his  hands  to- 
gether. 

An  indescribable  confusion  followed  amid 
shouts  of  laughter,  except  from  the  first  two 
or  three  ladies  in  the  column,  who  were 
obliged  to  recede,  while  Pierre  ran  and  took 
Agnes  from  the  end  of  the  line.  Every  one 
found  a  partner  at  last,  but  Mademoiselle 
Titof  had  unfortunately  changed  the  tune 
and    had    begun   to    play  a   galop.     The   time 


TWENTY   YEARS  OF  MARRIED  LIFE.        33 

was  soon  seized  by  the  dancers,  and  all  the 
company  reentered  the  drawing-room,  rushing 
wildly. 

Pierre  threw  himself  on  a  sofa  and  gave  vent 
to  a  loud  "  Phew  !  " 

The  piano  stopped,  and  the  room  was  sud- 
denly filled  with  noise  and  laughter. 

"Well,  Ania,  are  you  enjoying  yourself?" 
said  Platon,  seizing  his  daughter  by  one  of 
the  braids  of  her  hair. 

The  face  which  was  turned  towards  him  was 
certainly  not  that  of  one  who  felt  bored. 

"  Be  happy,  my  darling,"  said  the  father, 
kissing  his  daughter's  brow.  "  May  this  day 
be  without  a  cloud  for  you,  my  children,  as  it 
is  for  us  !  " 

Agnes  returned  his  caress,  ran  away  and 
sat  down  at  the  piano ;  for  the  young  people 
clamored  for  more  dancing. 

Ermile  Drakof  had  withdrawn  into  a  com- 
paratively obscure  corner,  whence  he  looked 
at  Agnes   without   being   seen.     The   thought 


34  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

that  she  could  not  distinguish  the  expression 
of  his  face  gave  hira  confidence,  and  he  no 
longer  constrained  himself  to  appear  conven- 
tionally friendly. 

If  she  had  known  all  the  tenderness  that  this 
young  and  upright  heart  contained  for  her  !  If 
she  could  have  discerned  how  much  resolution, 
courage,  and  dauntless  stoicism  was  hidden 
behind  the  smiling,  almost  silly  air  of  the  tall 
and  rather  heavy  young  man !  But  he  would 
have  been  ashamed  to  have  shown  himself  to 
her  as  he  really  was.  She  had  told  him  so 
many  times  that  one  should  know,  how  to  com- 
mand one's  feelings,  and  that  one  was  only  a 
man  when  self-possessed ;  and  he  feared  so  to 
displease  her. 

Agnes  was  just  eighteen.  Ermile  had  known 
her  from  her  childhood.  The  six  years  of  dif- 
ference between  Nicolas  Sourofs  age  and  his 
own  had  not  interfered  with  their  friendship; 
but  would  he  have  been  as  fond  of  a  boy  who 
was  only  a  child,   while   he   was   finishing  his 


TWENTY  YEARS  OF  MARRIED  LIFE.        35 

Studies  at  the  university,  if  Kola  had  not  been 
brother  to  the  disdainful  Agnes? 

He  loved  this  house  where  the  Sourofs 
lived  six  months  of  the  year.  He  also  loved 
their  house  at  Petersburg;  but  the  real  nest, 
the  refuge,  the  home,  was  the  country-seat  of 
Sourova,  where  a  thousand  memories  of  child- 
hood united  his  life  with  those  of  his  kind 
neighbors.  Ermile's  father  was  a  quiet  old 
man,  who  went  out  very  little,  and  went  to 
sleep  regularly  after  dinner  in  an  arm-chair  in 
the  smoking-room.  Married  late  in  life,  and 
a  widower  after  a  few  years,  he  passionately 
loved  his  daughter  Marie  and  his  son  Ermile. 
Marie,  the  elder,  was  an  excellent  girl,  twenty- 
eight  years  old.  Plain,  and  a  good  house- 
keeper, expert  and  active,  she  had  long  since 
given  up  all  thought  of  marriage,  and  lived 
very  happy  without  it.  "  No  one  can  ever 
know,"  she  was  wont  to  say,  "  how  easy  it 
makes  life !  " 

While   Ermile   was  gazing  at  Agnes,  whose 


36  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

lovely  face  had  become  rosy  from  the  move- 
ment of  her  agile  hands,  Marie  came  near  and 
leaned  her  chin  on  the  shoulder  of  her  brother, 
whom  she  adored.  She  had  been  almost  a 
mother  to  him  from  the  time  he  was  left  an 
orphan  in  his  cradle  ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  years 
passed  since  then,  she  could  not  help  always 
treating  him  somewhat  like  a  baby. 

"  Why  don't  you  dance?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  I  am  resting,"  replied  he,  hastening  to  fix 
his  eyes  on  another  object. 

What  he  most  dreaded  of  all  things  was  to 
have  Marie  guess  his  secret. 

"  Look  at  Agnes !  Is  she  not  pretty  when 
rosy  like  that?  One  can  find  no  fault  with  her 
except  that  she  is  ordinarily  a  little  too  pale ; 
to-night  she  is  adorable." 

"  She  is  tiring  herself,  I  am  going  to  take 
her  away,"  said  Ermile,  hastening  towards  the 
piano. 

Marie  saw  him  lean  over  Agnes  to  speak  to 
her,    but  without  daring  to   look  at  her.     She 


TWENTY  YEARS  OF  MARRIED  LIFE.        37 

made  a  sign,  and  rose,  still  playing.  The 
young  man  took  iier  seat  and  continued  the 
dance  she  had  begun.  He  kept  the  measure 
so  well  that  no  one  noticed  the  substitution. 

"  How  we  understand  each  other !  "  said 
Agnes,  smiling. 

*'  Like  a  pair  of  thieves,"  replied  Ermile, 
whose  heart  beat  with  joy  at  that  friendly 
"  wer 

He  was  indefatigable  that  evening;  waltz 
following  polka,  quadrille  after  quadrille.  He 
sat  at  the  piano  without  growing  tired.  The 
children  had  gone  to  bed,  their  eyes  full  of 
sleep  and  regret  at  not  being  able  to  keep 
open  any  longer;  their  parents  talked,  seated 
in  happy  groups.  Not  one  of  the  fifty  guests 
who  had  dined  that  day  with  Dosia  felt  within 
the  sting  of  discontent.  This  happy  house  was 
one  of  sunshine,  where  reigned  the  sweetness 
of  a  constant  and  luminous  peace. 

When  the  burnt-out  candles  made  their  glass 
supporters  crack,  the  players    of  whist  or   of 


38  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

preference  at  last  rose.  To  them,  too,  the  even- 
ing had  been  a  pleasant  and  happy  one. 
They  were  good  people  who  had  known  each 
other  for  many  years,  and  liked  to  play  to- 
gether. More  than  one  of  them  would  have 
found  life  joyless  if  the  same  round  of  visits 
had  not  allowed  him  to  meet  every  day  of  the 
week  the  same  friends  whom  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  see  for  forty  years.  From  time 
to  time  death  gathered  a  member  from  the 
circle,  but  kind  Providence  aged  together  those 
who,  young  at  first,  had  gradually  given  up 
dancing,  and  acquired  a  taste  for  cards,  so  that 
the  card-tables  were  still  well  crowded. 

Dosia's  house  contained  a  large  number  of 
guest  chambers,  and  they  were  all  occupied 
that  night.  They  had  made  beds  for  the  young 
men  even  in  the  out-houses,  in  rooms  where 
provisions  were  ordinarily  kept,  and  which 
retained  a  pleasant  smell  of  fruit  or  grain. 

Other  guests,  who  were  nearer  neighbors, 
had    come    with    their    equipages,    and    their 


TWENTY  YEARS  OF  MARRIED  LIFE.       39 

departure  presented  an  interesting  sight.  A 
dozen  four-horse  carriages,  for  the  most  part 
open,  came  in  turn  to  the  front  door,  ready  for 
the  travellers ;  they  left  one  by  one,  and  the 
noise  of  the  bells  on  the  harnesses  gradually 
grew  less.  When  the  last  one  had  quitted  the 
court  the  servants  extinguished  the  torches 
that  had  lighted  the  departure;  all  sought 
their  beds,  and  the  moon  shed  floods  of 
serene  light  over  the  silent  house,  over  the 
perfumed  garden,  and  over  the  fertile  country 
of  Sourova. 


40  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER, 


CHAPTER  II. 

CONFESSIONS. 

IT  is  said  that  f^te-days  make  sad  to-morrows. 
This  is  true  sometimes ;  above  all,  when 
in  the  gayeties  of  the  evening  there  has  been 
something  of  license.  But  rejoicings  like  those 
which  marked  the  twentieth  anniversary  of 
the  marriage  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  Sourof 
leave  behind  them  no  regrets. 

One  rises  late,  however.  The  children  may 
chatter  at  dawn  with  the  birds  in  the  garden 
and  park,  but  those  who  have  danced  until  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning  have  no  wish  to  see  the 
sun  rise.  They  enter,  one  after  the  other,  the 
great  dining-room,  where  the  crystal  bowls, 
full  of  foaming  milk,  the  old  utensils  of  silver 
repoussk,  and  the  little  rolls,  smoking  and 
golden,  make  for  them  the  most  cheering 
sight. 


CONFESSIONS.  4 1 

Ermile  and  his  sister  arose  first.  Marie  was 
seated  at  the  table,  where  for  two  hours 
already  she  had  poured  tea  and  coffee,  and 
served  each  new-comer  with  inexhaustible  com- 
placency. She  had  not  her  equal  for  remain- 
ing half  a  day  before  a  samovar,  refilled  from 
time  to  time  by  the  attentive  servants,  and 
giving  a  kindly  word  with  each  cup.  No  won- 
der that  Madame  Sourof  scarcely  knew  how 
to  do  without  her  when  she  entertained  her 
guests. 

Agnes  entered,  a  quiet  expression  on  her 
face,  her  eyes  beaming.  She  inherited  from 
her  mother  a  wonderful  vitality;  but,  instead 
of  showing  it  on  the  surface,  and  spending  it  in 
those  fancies  which  made  Dosia,  when  young^ 
the  heroine  of  many  a  tale,  she  carefully  re- 
served it  in  concealment,  like  a  smothered 
fire.  Throwing  back  the  braids  of  blonde  hair, 
which  fell  on  her  breast  at  every  motion,  she 
seated  herself  comfortably  near  Marie,  and, 
pouring   out   a   cup    of  milk,  she    rested   her 


42  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

arms  on  the  table  and  her  chin  upon  her 
arms,  looking  about  her. 

"Are  your  breakfasts  like  this?"  asked 
Marie,  taking  from  her  pocket  a  ball  of  white 
wool  and  an  ivory  crochet-needle.  She  was' 
always  making  afghans,  and  her  father  declared 
that  she  had  already  finished  three  dozen. 

Agnes  regarded  her  cup  of  milk  with  in- 
difference. "  I  have  seen  my  bears  just  now ; 
they  eat  with  such  appetites  that  it  has  satiated 
me." 

"  Your  bears  !     Have  you  bears  now?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  two.  They  are  very  pretty. 
I  will  show  them  to  you.  They  are  not  in 
the  house." 

"  I  fancy  they  are  not  in  the  sheepfold, 
either !  " 

"  No.  They  are  near  the  greenhouse ;  they 
were  given  to  me  last  spring,  when  they  were 
very  small.  Just  imagine,  when  mamma  and  I 
came  here  last  April,  at  a  post-station,  while 
we  were  changing  horses,  a   peasant  came  up 


CONFESSIONS.  43 

carrying  something  in  his  cloak.  'Are  they 
dogs  ?  *  said  mamma.  You  know  she  cannot 
see  a  dog  without  a  palpitation  of   the  heart. 

"  '  No,'  replied  the  peasant ;  '  they  are  little 
bears.* 

"*So  little  !  Show  them  to  us,'  said  mamma, 
and  the  man  placed  them  on  the  ground. 

"  O  Marie,  you  cannot  imagine  what  dears 
they  were !  They  were  three  weeks  old,  and  as 
large  as  a  Newfoundland  dog  of  three  months ; 
and  they  had  such  pretty  little  ways !  I  sat 
down  on  the  ground  to  play  with  them ;  they 
laid  down  on  the  train  of  my  dress,  and  when  I 
got  up  I  drew  them  along  on  it.  They  did  not 
wish  to  leave  me.  Their  mother  had  been 
killed  the  day  before.  We  gave  them  some 
milk,  and  they  drank  it  like  kittens,  putting 
their  lovely  little  noses  and  their  paws  into  the 
bowl  naturally,  and  when  they  had  finished  it 
they  sat  down  to  lick  their  paws.  Then  they 
ran  after  me  about  the  room.  And  so  mamma 
bought   them    and    gave    me    one;     the    other 


44  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

belongs  to  Vera,  but  she  does  not  care  for 
it." 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  them?" 
asked  Marie.  "  You  can't  undertake  to  break 
them  to  harness." 

"  We  will  eat  them,"  said  Kola,  who  entered 
at  that  moment. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Agnes,  —  "  eat  my  bears  ?  " 

"  That's  all  a  bear  is  good  for,  unless  you 
teach  him  to  dance." 

Agnes  maintained  a  dignified  silence,  and 
Kola  asked  the  obliging  Marie  for  a  cup 
of  coffee.  At  this  moment  Ermile  made  his 
appearance,  and  received  only  a  cool  "  good- 
morning  "  from  his  idol.  Without  appearing 
to  notice  it  he  sat  down  and  began  to  talk  with 
his  friend. 

"  Did  you  see  Mademoiselle  Borikof  yester- 
day?" said  Marie,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her,  as  she  was  there,"  replied 
Agnes,  coldly ;  "  what  is  there  remarkable 
about   her?" 


CONFESSIONS.  45 

"  Why,  her  lover  is  so  long  in  declaring  him- 
self that  she  is  likely  to  become  ill." 

"  That's  making  a  great  fuss  for  a  man  with 
yellow  hair,"  said  Agnes,  pouting. 

"  Yellow  or  not,  if  she  loves  him  !  " 

"  If  she  loves  him  it  is  a  proof  that  her  mind 
is  inferior ;  and  another  proof  of  it  is  that  she 
wears  green  ribbons,  which  are  horribly  unbe- 
coming to  her." 

"  The  poor  girl !  I  heard  him  say  that  he 
admired  green  ribbons.  They  make  him  think 
of  the  green  leaves,  and  thus  recall  summer  to 
him." 

"  Then  she  ought  only  to  wear  them  in 
winter,"  said  Agnes. 

"  O  my  child,"  sighed  Marie,  "  you  do  not 
know  to  what  extremes  the  desire  to  please 
may  lead  one.     I  understand  it." 

Nicolas  burst  out  laughing.  The  idea  that 
this  good,  simple  Marie  should  have  personal 
knowledge  of  the  desire  to  please  seemed  to 
him  absolutely  comical. 


46  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  affirmed,  "  I  have  wished  to 
please;  it  wasn't  a  success,  but  then  it  only 
happened  once." 

"  O  Marie,  tell  me  about  it,"  said  Agnes, 
her  eyes  sparkling  with  malicious  fun. 

"  Yes.  my  children,  I  will  tell  you,  so  that  it 
may  be  a  lesson  to  you.  Come  here.  Vera," 
added  she,  as  the  child  passed ;  "  and  you,  too, 
my  little  friends,  and  you,  Mademoiselle  Titof ; 
all  you  young  ladies,  listen  to  what  may  hap- 
pen when  one  wishes  to  charm  a  young  man 
by  outward  attractions." 

The  little  company  listened,  open-mouthed. 
Marie  looked  about  her  with  an  air  of  satis- 
faction. "  I  was  fifteen  years  old,"  said  she. 
"  Ermile,  you  must  remember  it." 

He  nodded  his  head  affirmatively,  and  the 
thought  of  her  adventure  brought  a  passing 
smile  to  his  face. 

"  I  was  fifteen,"  repeated  Marie,  "  and  I  was 
still  more  ugly  than  I  am  now"  — 

■  '  O  Marie !  "    exclaimed    Vera,    who   adored 


CONFESSIONS.  47 

her,  and  thought  her  more  beautiful  than  a 
Madonna  by  Raphael. 

"Yes,  my  child,  it  is  as  I  tell  you.  I  had 
an  uncle  who  was  interested  in  agriculture. 
He  is  dead,  the  poor,  dear  man !  God  keep 
his  soul !  He  ruined  himself  buying  those 
English  ploughs,  that  never  would  plough  Rus- 
sian soil.  He  came  to  our  house,  I  don't  know 
why.  Perhaps  he  came  to  persuade  my  father 
to  buy  those  English  ploughs  also,  and  he 
happened  to  bring  with  him  his  engineer.  I 
had  never  seen  an  engineer,  but  it  sounded 
well,  and  I  said  to  myself,  *  This  engineer  must 
have  the  impression  that  I  am  a  charming 
person.'  So  the  next  day — it  was  in  summer 
—  I  put  on  a  lovely  white  dress." 

"  Well,  that  was  natural  enough,"  said  Vera, 
looking  at  her  dress,  which  was  white. 

"  Just  wait,  my  foolish  little  girl !  After  tea 
in  the  morning,  we  went  out.  My  father, 
who  did  not  like  to  walk,  bade  me  take  my 
uncle  and  the  engineer  to  the  tool-house,  which 


48  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

was  at  some  distance  from  the  house.  As  we 
walked  along  I  explained  this,  and  showed 
that,  and  made  many  foolish  remarks.  I  don't 
remember  what  they  were,  but  they  were 
foolish,  and  there  were  a  great  many  of  them, 
I  am  sure  of  that.  At  length  we  crossed  a 
stream,  —  broad  enough,  but  not  deep,  with  a 
slight  current,  —  a  kind  of  pond ;  the  bridge 
was  narrow,  made  of  one  or  two  planks. 

*' '  Oh,  what  a  lovely  color  !  '  said  the  engi- 
neer, looking  at  the  stagnant  water.  Really 
it  had  a  wonderful  green.  As  he  was  about 
to  pass  over  he  drew  back  to  let  me  go 
first. 

"  '  Now  is  the  time,'  said  I  to  myself,  '  to 
display  all  my  perfections.  He  must  think  to 
himself  she  has  a  beautiful  figure,  and  the 
elegance  of  one  of  the  Graces.'  In  fact,  I 
carried  myself  well,  skipping  with  an  aristo- 
cratic air.  But  I  stepped  outside  of  the  plank, 
and  fell  into  that  water  which  had  such  a 
beautiful    green." 


CONFESSIONS.  49 

"  O  Marie !  "  exclaimed  Vera,  with  an  air 
of  consternation. 

"  Exactly  so.  I  told  you  that  I  wore  a 
white  dress,  so  when  my  uncle  and  the 
engineer  pulled  me  out  of  the  water  my  dress 
was  green,  but  only  to  the  knees,  as  the  pond 
was  not  deep.  We  had  a  half  verst  back  to 
the  house.  I  walked,  my  friends.  I  do  not 
know  whether  the  engineer  remembered  me, 
but  I  did  not  forget  him,  I  warrant  you.  Since 
then  I  have  given  up  trying  to  please.  Now 
go  and  play,  my  children,  and  remember 
that  modesty  is  the  sweetest  ornament  of 
beauty." 

Marie  ridiculed  herself  with  such  grace  that 
the  least  one  could  do  was  to  join  in  her  fun. 
But  Vera,  who  was  very  sensitive,  kissed  her 
affectionately,  as  if  to  console  her  for  her  mis- 
adventure. As  the  child  went  away  Marie 
said  reflectively,  "  You  might  have  had  such  an 
experience;  but  Agnes,  never." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Agnes,  throwing  her  blonde 


50  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

hair  over  her  shoulder.  "The  opinion  of  others 
—  I  don't  care  much  for  it." 

"  That's  plain  enough,"  said  Kola,  with  an 
innocent  air. 

"  Come  now,  Kola,  don't  tease  her,"  said 
Marie,  who  had  carried  Nicolas  in  her  arms 
when  he  was  a  baby,  and  from  time  to  time 
corrected  him,  as  she  did  her  own  brother. 
"You  have  all  breakfasted;  no  one  is  hungry? 
Well,  I  am  not  sorry." 

She  rang  the  bell,  and,  leaving  the  room  to 
the  care  of  the  servants,  she  seated  herself  on 
the  veranda  with  the  everlasting  ball  of  white 
wool.  The  others  went  into  the  garden,  each 
one  taking  his  own  way.  Agnes  took  the 
path  bordered  by  lindens.  The  summer's  heat 
had  already  tinged  the  leaves  with  pale  gold. 
It  was  her  favorite  walk,  and  she  carried 
there  each  day  her  good  or  bad  humor,  in 
order  to  think  over  its  causes  and  results. 

She  found  Mademoiselle  Titof  there,  who, 
without   precisely   waiting    for    her    pupil,  ex- 


CONFESSIONS.  J I 

pected  to  meet  her.  At  sight  of  her  Agnes 
frowned. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  you,  my  dear,"  said  the 
governess. 

"  To  scold  me,  you  mean  to  say,"  replied 
Agnes. 

"  No,  only  to  talk  with  you." 

With  a  sigh  of  resignation  Agnes  walked 
beside  Mademoiselle  Titof  in  the  shade  of  the 
lindens,  which  the  sun  flecked  with  bits  of 
gold. 

The  governess  was  of  about  the  same  height 
as  her  pupil,  and  resembled  her  a  little;  she 
had  not  the  same  features,  but  the  same  form 
of  face  and  the  same  color  of  hair;  only  that 
Agnes  was  like  a  fresh  flower,  while  the  other, 
wearied  by  her  life,  was  already  faded.  There 
was  but  six  years  of  difference  between  their 
ages,  but  the  twenty-four  of  Mademoiselle 
Titofs  life  had  already  brought  many  troubles, 
while  the  eighteen  of  Agnes  might  be  counted 
as  so  many  holidays  if  she  had  wished. 


52  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  desire  to  speak  to  you,  my  dear,"  said  the 
governess,  "  because  all  sorts  of  ideas  came  into 
my  head  last  night.  I  don't  know  why ;  per- 
haps on  account  of  the  gayety  which  reigned  in 
the  house  yesterday,  in  which  you  alone  did 
not  share." 

"  I  was  amused  at  the  end,"  said  Agnes,  as  if 
in  explanation. 

**  Yes,  when  you  were  at  the  piano,  and  had 
made  the  others  dance." 

Agnes  nodded  her  head  gravely.  "  That 
alone  pleased  me,"  said  she ;  "  to  be  occupied 
with  one's  self  is  to  wrong  others." 

"  Exactly  !  But  you  occupy  yourself  with 
others  only  when  they  are  en  masse;  you  do 
not  care  enough  for  individuals.  Do  you  know 
that  your  mother  was  much  vexed  on  your 
account,  yesterday?" 

Agnes  shrugged  her  shoulders  impatiently. 
She  adored  her  mother,  and  could  not 
bear  the  idea  of  grieving  her,  but  she 
felt    unable    to     correct     her    faults    for     the 


CONFESSIONS.  53 

sake  of  pleasing  her.  How  many  are  like 
this! 

"  She  suffers  from  your  disposition,  Agnes, 
notwithstanding  that  you  know  what  a  mother, 
what  an  excellent  wife,  she  is.  This  has 
decided  me  to  talk  seriously  with  you.  You 
know,  my  dear,  that  you  have  confidence  in 
me.  We  have  known  each  other,  and  I  have 
loved  you,  for  five  years.  Speak  to  me  frankly. 
You  are  not  satisfied  with  your  fate.  What 
do  you  desire?  If  it  is  possible  to  gratify 
you  I  think  I  can  promise  that  it  shall  be 
done." 

Agnes  walked  on  slowly,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  spots  of  light  which  the  sun  cast  through 
the  shade  of  the  path. 

"  I  wish,"  said  she,  in  a  low  tone,  but  with 
great  decision,  "to  lead  a  useful  life,  —  not  to 
waste  my  youth  and  my  powers  in  a  fruitless 
existence.  I  have  had  a  fine  education,  and 
I  have  profited  by  it,  —  I  may  say  that  without 
vanity, —  and  here  I  am,  at  eighteen,  good  for 


54  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

nothing  except  to  parade  in  a  drawing-room. 
You  are  astonished  that  I  prefer  to  make  others 
dance  before  dancing  myself.  Useless  as  this 
may  be,  it  counts  for  something." 

She  ended  with  a  sort  of  bitterness,  but  her 
usual  pride  gave  way  to  a  genuine  sadness. 

**  You  are  impatient,  my  child,"  said  Mad- 
emoiselle Titof.  "  If  you  knew  how  necessary 
it  is  to  wait  in  this  life,  and  to  make  attempts 
again  and  again  which  come  to  nothing. 
Your  education  has  fitted  you  to  hold  your 
place  in  society." 

"  I  do  not  like  society." 

"  Then  it  has  fitted  you  to  be  a  learned 
person,  so  that  you  may  taste  all  the  pleasures 
of  intellect  and  of  art.  When  you  are 
married"  — 

Agnes  repressed  a  sign  of  impatience. 
Mademoiselle  Titof  put  her  white,  thin  hand 
on  the  girl's  arm,  "  Do  not  say,  '  I  do  not 
wish  to  marry.'  The  part  of  a  woman  in  this 
life  is  to  be  a  wife  and  a  mother." 


CONFESSIONS.  55 

"  A  wife,"  cried  Agnes,  — "  such  a  wife  as 
belongs  to  our  world :  to  meet  her  husband 
at  the  table !  A  mother,  to  see  her  children 
twice  a  day,  at  morning  and  evening,  and  to 
scold  them  when  their  masters  complain  of 
them.  If  that  is  to  be  my  future,  I  should 
prefer  anything,  —  even  the  cloister.  One  may 
work  there." 

"  Do  you  find  such  examples  in  your 
family?"    demanded    Mademoiselle   Titof. 

"  My  family?  One  cannot  find  twice  in  a 
century  such  a  man  as  my  father — such  a 
woman  as  my  Aunt  Sophie.  Do  you  think 
that,  without  her  my  Uncle  Pierre  would  be 
the  man  that  he  is?" 

Mademoiselle  Titof  was  confounded  by  this 
sagacity.  It  was  perfectly  true  that  Pierre 
Mourief  had  been  moulded  and  formed  by  the 
hands  of  his  wife,  and,  in  spite  of  Agnes's 
silence  regarding  her  mother,  it  was  not  less 
certain  that,  under  a  different  influence  from 
that  of  Platon  Sourof,  Dosia  would  have  been 


56  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

another  person ;  full  of  generous  instincts,  but 
incapable  of  regulating  her  life  wisely. 

"Truly,  few  men  are  like  your  father,"  re- 
plied Mademoiselle  Titof;  "  but  humanity  is  not 
so  poor  in  men  of  merit  as  you  think.  Around 
us  there  are  some  who  have  great  qualities, 
and,  indeed,  one  day  or  another,  you  may  meet 
one  who  will  please  you.  We  are  not  exacting 
towards  those  whom  we  love." 

She  ended  with  a  sigh.  Perhaps  she  knew 
by  some  sad  experience  how  indulgent  we  can 
be  to  the  faults  of  a  loved  one. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Agnes,  suddenly,  "  how 
came  you  to  be  a  governess?" 

Mademoiselle  Titof  blushed,  and  for  a 
moment  her  blush  restored  to  her  the  charm 
of  her  vanished  youth. 

"  I  had  taken  my  diploma  from  the  Institute 
for  noble  young  ladies  in  Kazan,"  said  she, 
"  and  had  won  some  brilliant  honors.  I  was 
about  to  marry  when  my  father  died,  leaving 
his   affairs  very  much   embarrassed.     We  were 


CONFESSIONS. 


57 


not  rich  before,  and  after  this  we  were  in 
misery.  I  was  the  only  support  of  my  mother, 
and  my  future  husband  proposed  that  I  should 
place  her  in  an  asylum  for  the  aged.  An 
asylum  for  my  dear  mamma !  Since  she  was 
a  widow  she  needed  more  than  ever  my  care 
and  tenderness.  I  refused ;  the  marriage  was 
broken  off,  and  I  took  a  situation.  I  see  my 
mother  in  the  winter  only,  but  she  has  two 
pretty  rooms,  and  your  mother's  generosity 
enables  me  to  give  her  every  desirable  com- 
fort." 

Agnes  fell  on  the  neck  of  her  governess  with 
such  ardor  that  she  was  in  danger  of  being 
overthrown;  they  were  laughing  and  weeping 
at  the  same  time ;  she  held  her  in  this  embrace 
one  moment,  and  then  resumed  their  prome- 
nade, giving  Mademoiselle  Titof  her  arm. 
"  And  you  say,"  cried  Agnes,  "  that  there  are 
men  of  heart !  " 

"Precisely;  because  I  came  near  marrying 
one  who  had  but  a  very  ordinary  soul  I  have 


58  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

my  eyes  open  to  the  merits   of  others.     I  am 
too  much  afraid  of  becoming  a  misanthrope." 

"You  had  enough  to  make  you  one,"  mur- 
mured Agnes.  "  But  tell  me  how  one  becomes 
a  governess,  my  friend." 

"  One  receives  a  passport  and  seeks  a  place," 
replied  Mademoiselle  Titof,  smiling. 

"  Ah  !   is  a  passport  necessary?  " 

"  Always,  with  us." 

*'  And  what  do  you  do  now  with  your  pass- 
port?" 

"  I  keep  it.  When  I  travel  I  state  at  the 
police  office  that  I  am  going  away,  and  when  I 
arrive  elsewhere  I  inscribe  my  name  as  a  new- 
comer, that  is  all.  So  when  I  go  to  Moscow 
next  month,  to  visit  my  uncle,  I  shall  comply 
with  the  regulations  as  to  my  passport  before  I 
go  away." 

"  What  a  nuisance !  "  exclaimed  Agnes. 
"All  restraint  is  disagreeable,  in   fact;  but  this 
is  a  little  thing,  a  mere  formality." 

Agnes  listened  no  longer.     Her  vivid  imagi- 


CONFESSIONS.  59 

nation  was   entirely  absorbed    by  thoughts    of 
the  sufferings  of  Mademoiselle  Titof. 

"  And  I  have  never  had  the  least  idea  of 
that,"  cried  she.  "  You  are  so  quiet ;  you 
never  speak  of  yourself." 

The  governess  smiled  sweetly.  "  You  will 
love  me  better  now,"  said  she. 

"  Ah !  I  believe  it.  I  shall  adore  you. 
When  I  think  how  often  I  have  been  naughty 
to  you  —     If  I  had  known  !  " 

"  It  would  be  better  always  to  act  as  if  one 
knew,"  said  Mademoiselle  Titof,  with  extreme 
delicacy.  "  But  I  do  not  wish  to  preach  you  a 
sermon,  and  it  is  time  for  Vera's  music-lesson." 
She  moved  towards  the  house,  but  Agnes 
detained  her. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she,  with  beating 
heart, — "  your  humble  pardon  for  my  past 
impertinences,  and  I  assure  you  that  I  shall 
atone  for  them." 

"  My  dear  child !  "  exclaimed  Mademoiselle 
Titoff,  kissing  her.     They  pressed  each  other's 


60  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

hands,  and  the  governess  returned  to  the 
house. 

While  fragments  of  the  scales  played  on  the 
distant  piano  fell  upon  her  inattentive  ears 
Agnes  seated  herself  upon  a  bench  and  was 
lost  in  thought.  There  are,  then,  some  lives 
without  brightness,  without  joys,  uniquely  con- 
secrated to  others?  Agnes  knew  this,  but  she 
had  always  thought  that  some  characteristic 
sign  distinguished  these  choice  beings;  some 
particular  appearance ;  an  unusual  exterior;  in 
short,  a  sort  of  aureole,  visible,  at  least,  to  the 
initiated.  And  now,  behold,  her  governess, 
she  who  for  four  years  had  taught  her  every- 
thing, was  a  soldier  of  duty!  Who  could 
have  imagined  it? 

Agnes's  heart  was  stirred  to  its  depths  with 
interest  in  unknown  martyrs.  It  was  one  of 
her  hobbies,  and  she  had  passed  many  hours 
in  reflection  upon  these  vague  beings;  but 
this  time  her  dream  had  form.  While  she 
allowed   her  fancy  to  execute  some  new  vari- 


CONFESSIONS.  gj 

ations  on  this  well-known  theme  an  intruder 
entered  the  linden  path,  and  approached  her 
without  being  seen.  When  he  was  near  her 
she  started  suddenly  and  looked  up. 

"  Ermile  !  "  said  she ;  "  you  almost  frightened 
me !  " 

"  That  was  not  what  I  wished,"  he  an- 
swered, smiling.  "  I  thought  I  should  find 
you  here,  and  have  come  at  the  risk  of  being 
indiscreet.  If  you  command  it  I  will  go 
away." 

"  Why  should  you  ?  "  answered  she,  with  a 
shade  of  haughtiness.  "  We  can  talk  as  well 
here  as  while  dancing  a  german  in  a  drawing- 
room."  She  rose  from  her  seat,  saying,  "We 
can  talk  better  while  walking." 

Ermile  silently  took  his  place  at  her  side, 
and  they  paced  half  the  length  of  the  alley 
without  exchanging  a  word.  At  length  Agnes 
broke  the  silence. 

"  Have  you  settled  your  plans  ?  "  asked  she, 
without  looking  at  him. 


62  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

He  bowed  his  head  before  replying;  then 
said,  in  a  serious  voice,  "  I  believe  so." 

"  What  have  you  decided  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  live  in  the  country,  and  employ 
my  talents  to  civilize  the  people." 

"  That  is  well,"  said  Agnes,  with  a  move- 
ment of  the  head  full  of  proud  satisfaction. 

"  My  Uncle  Varlamof  has  willed  me  his  prop- 
erty.    Did  you  not  know  it  ?  " 

"No;  and  then?  " 

"  It  makes  me  rich,  that  is  all ;  and  I  can  now 
do  what  I  could  not  do  for  a  year  past." 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  as  she  said  no  more 
he  did  not  feel  encouraged.  After  a  silence  he 
went  on :  "  You  have  advised  me  to  do  it." 

"  I  should  think  so !  Are  there  not  men 
enough  who  spend  their  money  at  Petersburg 
or  Moscow?  Do  good  to  the  peasants;  im- 
prove the  land.  Spend  your  fortune  to  educate 
the  former  and  to  cultivate  the  latter.  You 
will  be  recompensed." 

"By  whom?" 


s.    CONFESSIONS.  6^ 

"  By  those  whom  you  have  benefited.  And 
then,  is  not  the  approval  of  your  own  con- 
science sufficient  for  you?" 

Ermile  looked  much  discomfited.  Certainly 
at  this  moment  the  approbation  of  his  own 
conscience  did  not  suffice  for  him. 

"  My  conscience  —  oh,  yes,"  said  he,  hesitat- 
ing; "but  I  am  twenty-five  years  old,  my 
studies  are  finished,  and  I  believe  that  I  shall 
make  a  tolerable  agriculturist.  So  much  the 
more  that  I  have  not  too  many  false  theories 
in  my  head, —  at  least  I  hope  that  those  which 
have  charmed  me  are  not  false,  —  and  then, 
theories  are  well  enough ;  I  do  not  doubt 
that,  but  it  is  necessary  to  prove    them." 

Agnes  nodded  her  assent.  He  made  a  great 
effort,  and  went  on,  in  a  trembling  voice :  — 

"  Finally,  Agnes,  have  you  not  seen  that 
which  I  have  forced  myself  to  conceal  so 
carefully?  " 

She  had  seen  it  certainly,  but  she  could  not 
have  been  made  to  confess  it  for  all  the  world. 


64  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  now  since  I  have  said  to 
myself  that  I  must  speak  to  you,  from  fear  "  — 

His  voice  was  lost  in  his  throat.  Agnes  re- 
mained impassive.  The  unhappy  young  man 
made  a  new  effort,  and  continued :  — 

"  From  fear  that  another  might  speak  to  you 
before  me,  and  obtain  that  which  I  should 
value  as  the  greatest  joy  of  which  it  is  possible 
to  dream." 

She  turned  towards  him,  her  beautiful  gray 
eyes  full  of  fire. 

"  I  have  understood  it,  Ermile,"  said  she. 
"  Another  young  girl  in  my  place  would  give 
herself  the  pleasure  of  making  you  explain 
yourself  more  fully,  but  these  coquetries  are 
beneath  me.     You  love  me?" 

He  bowed  his  head,  unable  to  speak. 

"  It  is  —  pardon  me  the  words  that  I  shall 
say;  I  cannot  find  others,  though  I  might  wish 
it  —  it  is  unhappy  for  you  and  for  me." 

"  Unhappy  !  "  exclaimed  he,  turning  pale. 

"  Yes,  I  do  not  love  you." 


CONFESSIONS.  6$ 

"  You  will  learn  to  love  me !  " 

"  I  shall  not  love  you  !  " 

She  spoke  with  the  unconscious  and  fierce 
cruelty  of  those  whose  hearts  have  not  been 
touched  by  love.  She  did  not  know  the  depth 
of  the  wound  which  she  made.  How  could  she 
understand  it?  Only  those  who  have  suffered 
such  pains  know  what  they  cost. 

"  Oh  !  "  continued  Ermile ;  "  if  you  but  knew 
how  much  I  love  you  ! " 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  said  she,  calmly. 
However,  a  secret  joy  filled  Agnes's  soul, 
beneath  her  apparent  coldness.  The  magic 
word  revealed  to  her  some  springs  of  emotion, 
hitherto  concealed ;  she  entered  into  a  new  life 
through  the  triumphal  gate  of  a  love  inspired, 
if  not  felt.  A  little  proud  satisfaction,  like  that 
of  a  queen  who  receives  homage,  entered  this 
young  mind  like  a  breath  of  madness,  Ermile 
continued  to  walk,  looking  straight  before 
him. 

"  I  cannot  love    you,"    said  Agnes.     "  I  do 


66  DOS/A 'S  DAUGHTER. 

not  know  if  it  is  because  I  have  always 
known  you ;  but  you  can  only  be  a  brother 
to  me." 

"  And  I  —  I  love  you  madly,"  cried  the  un- 
happy man. 

Agnes  frowned.  It  was  all  very  well  to  be 
loved,  and  it  was  flattering  enough  to  her;  but 
if  the  discarded  lover  took  it  upon  himself  to 
complain  it  would  be  very  tiresome.  Did  he 
not  know  how  to  accept  his  refusal  with  dig- 
nity, as  it  had   been  pronounced? 

"  If  it  is  thus,"  said  she,  "  I  see  but  one 
course  for  me,  —  to  see  you  no  more." 

"  That !  Impossible  !  "  said  Ermile,  in  a  de- 
cisive tone.  "Think  of  it!  You  love  me  only 
as  a  brother,  but  I  love  you  as  the  friend  of  all 
my  youth  —  and  more,  as  the  woman  with 
whom  I  wish  to  live  and  die." 

"  Then  it  is  better  never  to  speak  to  me  of 
it,  nor  to  allow  me  to  see  it." 

He  was  silent. 

"  Come,    Ermile,"  said   Agnes,    in  her  most 


CONFESSIONS.  6y 

persuasive  voice,  "  be  reasonable.  I  can  do 
nothing  for  you,  and  you  can  make  my 
existence  most  painful  by  keeping  at  my 
side  like  a  ghost  of  remorse.  It  is  not  my 
fault  if  I  do  not  love  you." 

Ermile  did  not  feel  sure  of  that,  but  he  did 
not  reply. 

"  Moreover,"  continued  Agnes,  "  if  my  father 
and  mother  knew  what  you  have  said  to  me, 
they  would  certainly  beg  of  you,  for  your  own 
sake,  to  cease  your  visits  to  us,  for  a  time  at 
least." 

This  was  true,  and  Ermile  felt  himself 
vanquished. 

"  It  is  necessary,  then,  for  you  to  make  a  reso- 
lution," continued  the  young  stoic,  "  either  to 
see  me  no  more,  or  else  to  promise  me  now 
that  you  will  never  speak  to  me  of  this  matter 
again ;  and  that  no  action  of  yours  shall  ever 
recall  to  me  this  conversation." 

"  I  shall  not  be  able  to  do  that,"  said  Ermile, 
with  a  half-sad  smile. 


68  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  I  am  speaking  seriously,"  said  Agnes, 
severely,  "  and  so  I  shall  pray  you  not  to  see 
me  again  until  you  have  put  this  madness  out 
of  your  head." 

She  was  really  angry.  Did  he,  then,  dream 
of  resisting  her?  And  in  a  matter  of  which 
she  was  the  mistress  to  give  or  to  retain  that 
which  he    demanded? 

Ermile  stood  there,  confounded;  he  knew 
that  she  was  passionate,  and  liable  to  do  some 
rash  thing  which  she  would  afterwards  regret 
with  all  her  heart.  He  knew,  too,  that  a  word 
from  her  would  bring  down  upon  him  the 
affectionate  condolences  of  Agnes's  relatives, 
with  the  charitable  advice  to  go  away,  to 
travel  in  foreign  lands ;  in  short,  to  forget,  or 
feign  to   forget,  this  unwelcome  love. 

"  Agnes,"  said  he,  humbly,  "  do  not  deny 
me  your  presence." 

"  Let  it  be  so,"  said  she,  with  dignity. 
•'  Then  you  must  give  me  your  word  of  honor 
that  you  will  never  speak  one  word,  or  do  one 


CONFESSIONS.  69 

act,  which  can  remind  me  that  you  love  me. 
Do  you  swear  it  ?  " 

"  I  swear  it,"  said  Ermile, 

"And  if  you  should  break  your  oath?" 

"  I  should  punish  myself  for  it.  You  will 
not  need  to  reproach  me." 

"Very  well,"  said  she,  "let  us  be  friends." 
And  by  the  most  natural  of  inconsequences 
she  offered  him  her  hand.  He  took  it,  pressed 
it  as  a  friend  might  do,  and  released  it  with  a 
deep  sigh. 

The  breakfast-bell,  which  rang  at  one  o'clock, 
recalled  them  to  the  house.  They  walked  on 
together,  he  silent  and  constrained ;  she  merry, 
and  almost  joyful.  She  felt  as  if  she  had 
wings ;  in  fact,  had  she  not  conquered  ?  Did 
she  not  hold  in  her  cruelly  inexperienced  hands 
the  most  precious  of  toys, —  the  rarest  of  jewels, 
—  the  heart  of  a  man  which  she  could  hence- 
forth torment  and  dissect,  not  for  the  sake  of 
wounding  it,  but  merely  to  find  out  how  it  is 
made? 


yO  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

He  felt  like  a  bird  when  seized  by  the  hands 
of  a  child,  soft  and  rough  at  the  same  time. 
He  felt  his  heart  beat  in  these  untrained  hands, 
and  asked  himself  if  they  would  stifle  it  alto- 
gether, or  if  he  should  ever  succeed  in  flying 
away.  As  for  his  oath  —  an  oath  more 
dangerous  and  more  difficult  to  keep  than  he 
could  yet  believe  —  he  did  not  regret  that  for 
one  moment.  If  he  should  be  punished  some 
day  for  breaking  it,  he  would  at  least  enjoy  the 
time  which  would  precede  the  fatal  moment. 
And  then,  if  he  could  be  near  her,  perhaps  he 
could  win  her  love.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
she  would  not  be  moved  by  a  tenderness  so 
true,  so  discreet,  and  so  unselfish? 

The  guests  of  the  house  came  from  all 
directions  to  the  veranda,  while  awaiting  the 
sound  of  the  second  bell.  Dosia  watched  her 
daughter  and  her  young  friend. 

"  She  has  scolded  him,"  said  she,  laughingly, 
to  her  husband.  "  See  how  dispirited  he  is ; 
but  she  seems  to  be  enchanted." 


CONFESSIONS.  yi 

Platon  looked  at  the  young  man  attentively, 
but  said  nothing.  He  knew  the  expression 
which  the  great  struggles  of  life  bring  to  the 
face.  As  Ermile  came  near  him  the  father 
took  him  affectionately  by  the  arm,  and  led 
him  to  the  dining-room,  talking  to  him  all  the 
while. 


72  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER, 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE   FOREST  BURNS. 

"/'GENERAL,"  said  Agnes,  quietly,   "your 

7-^   woods  are  burning." 

General  Baranine  took  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth,  looked  at  the  sky  above  him,  tossed 
his  head  with  a  knowing  look,  and  replied, 
"  Not  mine,   my  neighbor's." 

Agnes  looked  at  the  general,  and  then  at  the 
sky,  from  the  rocking-chair  where  he  was  see- 
sawing comfortably,  and  said  nothing.  She 
bent  over  the  number  of  an  illustrated  paper 
in  which  she  was  examining  the  prints,  shook 
it  a  little,  blew  away  some  white  specks  which 
had  fallen  upon  it,  and  seemed  to  be  interested 
in  the  pictures. 

This  year,  a  drought,  longer  than  any 
other  within  the  memory  of  the  living,  had 
dried  up   the  forests.     During  the  past  week 


THE   FOKEST  BURNS.  73 

fire  had  been  raging  in  a  great  wood  about 
twenty  versts  distant  from  the  home  of  the  gen- 
eral. In  order  to  reach  his  house,  the  Sourof 
family,  who  had  been  invited  to  spend  the  day 
with  him,  were  obliged  to  pass  through  a  suf- 
focating cloud  of  smoke,  which  the  wind  had 
borne  for  some  distance,  and  which  hung  over 
the  forest  like  a  cloak  of  fog.  In  the  grounds 
of  the  general  the  smoke  was  less  dense,  but 
was  still  enough  so  to  resemble  a  thick  and 
yellowish  mist. 

The  visitors  talked  of  one  thing  and  another, 
the  gentlemen  smoked,  the  ladies  talked  of 
the  children  who  were  playing  in  the  garden. 
Agnes  waited  a  few  moments  and  then  repeated, 
in  a  clear  voice,  "  General,  your  woods  are 
burning;"  and  she  shook  over  the  general's 
hand  the  bits  of  cinders  which  were  scattered 
over  her  newspaper. 

"  I  know  what  that  is,"  said  Baranine,  with- 
out looking  disturbed.  "  For  the  last  week, 
at  five  o'clock  in  the  evening,  when  the  wind 


74  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

changes  to  the  west,  we  have  a  rain  of 
cinders.'' 

"  Yes,  general,  but  it  is  two  o'clock,  and  the 
wind  is  in  the  east.  After  all,  it  is  not  my 
forest,  and  I  speak  only  on  your  account." 

Platon  rose.  "  We  ought  to  see  to  it  all  the 
same/'  said  he. 

Baranine  was  stubborn.  He  made  a  reas- 
suring gesture.  "  Let  it  alone  !  I  am  accus- 
tomed to  this  since  the  fires  broke  out." 

But,  in  spite  of  all,  Monsieur  Sourof  was  not 
satisfied.  He  continued  to  scan  the  sky 
and  in  a  moment  he  started  suddenly. 
"There,"  said  he,  "behind  you,  general,  the 
forest  is  really  burning.  See  that  column  of 
smoke ! " 

A  gust  of  wind  threw  on  the  paper  a  handful 
of  gray  cinders  and  black  charcoal,  still  hot. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  true  that  it  burns,"  exclaimed 
Baranine,  pulling  his  cap  down  over  his  pol- 
ished head.  "  I  am  a  stubborn  old  brute,  and 
Agnes  is  right." 


THE   FOREST  BURNS.  75 

He  ran  towards  the  servants'  quarters  and 
rang  the  kitchen  bell ;  in  a  moment  he  was 
surrounded  by  all  those  who  had  been  in  the 
garden  and  near  at  hand. 

There  was  no  need  of  many  words.  He  ex- 
tended his  arms  towards  the  column  of  smoke 
which  ascended  against  the  background  of 
yellow  mist,  and  each  one  took  in  the  whole 
truth.  The  men  ran  to  the  sheds  for  tools 
and  then  rushed  to  the  fire. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  Sourof  walked  rapidly 
by  the  side  of  their  friend,  without  showing  too 
much  anxiety,  which  would  not  be  proper  for 
people  of  their  class.  Baranine  had  taken  a 
gait  of  which  one  would  not  have  believed  him 
capable,  seeing  his  bulk.  Vera,  Marie  Drakof, 
and  the  young  people  had  run  ahead.  Agnes 
was  dying  to  follow  them,  but  the  external  pro- 
priety which  she  maintained  on  all  occasions 
prevented  her  from  doing  as  she  wished. 

The  smoke  became  dense  and  choking; 
some   burning   coals    fell   into    the    path,    and 


•j6  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER 

Platon,  while  still  running,  had  all  he  could 
do  to  extinguish  those  which  were  within  his 
reach.     The  general  snuffed  the  air  loudly. 

•'  It  is  the  birches,"  said  he ;  "  what  a 
perfume !  " 

In  spite  of  the  gravity  of  the  situation 
both  he  and  his  friends  burst  out  laughing. 
Agnes  could  restrain  herself  no  longer,  and 
ran  to  join  the  advance-guard,  who  were 
horrified. 

A  vast  clearing  which  had  been  made  the 
preceding  year,  and  in  which  a  few  scattered 
trees  had  been  left  for  shade,  was  burning  like 
a  brazier.  Some  small  pines,  and  some  clusters 
of  birches,  scarcely  three  feet  high,  gave  ex- 
cellent food  to  the  flames ;  the  furze  which 
carpeted  the  ground  spread  the  fire,  even  by 
its  roots,  and  it  all  flamed  up  with  a  strange 
noise  and  a  ferocious  activity. 

"  We  must  lose  a  good  deal  of  it,"  said  the 
general,  pomting  out  with  his  hand  a  consider- 
able circuit.     The  forest   itself  was  very  near, 


THE  FOREST  BURNS.  yy 

separated  from  this  brazier  by  a  path  only 
seven  or  eight  yards  wide.  Fortunately  the 
wind  did  not  blow  to  that  side,  but  a  whirl 
of  the  wind  might  bend  the  tops  of  the  lofty 
burning  birches  towards  the  great  trees  already 
scorched,  and  the  fire  would  then  take  on  the 
proportions  of  a  disaster,  the  extent  of  which 
could  not  be  foreseen. 

"  How  beautiful !  "  said  Agnes,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Is  it  not?"  responded  Ermile,  who  found 
himself  near  her,  no  one  knows  how.  "  What 
a  misfortune  that  it  should  be  so  horrible ! 
Look  at  that  birch, —  it  seems  as  if  it  were 
really  alive :  it  writhes ;  its  branches  crack ; 
one  would  say  it  is  begging  for  mercy." 

The  other  spectators  looked  on  in  silent  con- 
sternation. A  crowd  of  women  and  children 
who  seemed  to  have  sprung  out  of  the  ground 
contemplated  the  spectacle  with  a  good  degree 
of  philosophy.  The  forest  which  was  burning 
belonged  to   the   general;  if  it   had    been  the 


78  DOS/A' S   DAUGHTER. 

common  property  they  would  have  been  more 
anxious. 

A  squadron  of  peasants  appeared,  under  the 
direction  of  an  old  man,  with  picks  and  spades 
on  their  shoulders. 

"Bravo!  my  children;  you  are  prompt," 
cried  the  general.  "  Begin  your  work  there," 
pointing  to  the  part  nearest  the  forest;  "you 
know  what  is  to  be  done,  don't  you?  And 
you  others,  clear  away  this  underbrush  quickly. 
The  clearing  is  burning;  let  it  burn,  but  do 
not  let  the  fire  spread." 

The  men  set  to  work  with  wonderful  rapid- 
ity. The  Russian  peasants  are  slow  in  their 
movements,  and  display  violent  activity  only 
before  a  fire  in  the  forest;  but  there  they  are 
unequalled  in  energy  and  promptitude. 

**  And  you  women,  go  to  work !  "  shouted  the 
general.  "  What  is  the  matter  that  you  stand 
there  open-mouthed,  and  chatter  like  magpies? 
Get  your  brooms  and  forks  and  throw  back  into 
the  fire  all  that  falls  upon  the  road.     Quick  !  " 


THE  FOREST  BURNS.  79 

The  village  was  not  more  than  three  hun- 
dred yards  away.  In  a  few  minutes  the  imple- 
ments were  brought,  and  the  women,  ranged 
in  rows,  as  when  they  turn  the  hay,  began  to 
sweep  the  ground. 

The  heat  was  intense,  and  the  spectators 
were  careful  to  keep  to  the  windward  of  the 
fire.  Dosia  watched  to  see  that  Vera  kept 
near  Mademoiselle  Titof.  Platon,  Ermile,  and 
Kola  worked  with  the  men  to  make  the  ditch 
around  the  fire  so  that  it  should  not  be  fed  by 
the  roots  and  spread  still  further. 

Agnes,  near  her  mother,  watched  the  excit- 
ing scene,  and  asked  herself  why  it  was  that 
it  inspired  her  with  interest  rather  than  with 
regret. 

The  general  approached  Madame  Sourof. 
"  Do  you  see,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  east, 
"the  river  is  there,  thirty  yards  away?  It  flows 
down  the  slope,  so  there  is  not  much  to  fear 
if  the  fire  spreads  on  that  side ;  but  if  it  goes 
to    the    right,  we    are,  that   is   to    say,    I    am, 


8o  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

burned  out.  The  wood  extends  to  the  garden 
fence  and  adjoins  the  barns.  In  one  hour 
I  may  be  all  ruined,  or  in  part.  But  sit  down, 
ladies,  you  will  be  tired." 

With  his  chivalric  politeness,  meritorious  at 
such  a  time  and  under  such  circumstances,  he 
showed  the  ladies  to  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree 
lying  on  the  side  of  the  road,  where  Vera  was 
already  sitting  with  her  governess. 

"  Ah  !  if  I  had  water  enough,"  continued  he, 
"  it  would  be  easy.  I  know  some  brave  fel- 
lows who  would  cut  down  the  dangerous  trees ; 
but  it  would  be  necessary  to  make  a  path 
through  the  furnace  in  order  not  to  be  roasted 
alive  there," 

"  Why,"  said  Agnes,  "  the  river  is  so  near?  " 
"  So  near,  but  it  is  so  low  down,  at  least  fif- 
teen yards.     If  we  should  bring  it  in  buckets 
the   water  would   all  be   spilled   before   it  was 
half-way  to  the  fire." 

Agnes    looked    at   Baranine   with    a   strange 
expression  of  perplexity.     Suddenly  she  made 


THE  FOREST  BURNS.  8 1 

a  motion  with  her  hand,  as  if  she  were  answer- 
ing some  welcome  thought,  and  ran  towards 
the  house. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  her?"  asked  the 
general,  in  surprise. 

"  She  has  a  new  idea,"  answered  Dosia,  smil- 
ing. "  That  is  the  way  in  which  she  usually 
manifests  them.  She  has  thought  of  something 
of  which  you  will  probably  know  soon." 

Baranine  went  to  encourage  his  men,  who 
were  black  with  cinders  and  smoke.  Platon, 
his  son,  and  Ermile  worked  like  simple  work- 
men, and  the  blows  of  their  picks  were  not 
the  least   energetic. 

"  It  wearies  me  to  do  nothing,"  suddenly  ex- 
claimed Marie,  who  had  more  than  once 
searched  mechanically  in  her  pocket  for  her 
ball  of  wool.  "  Look  here,  child  !  you  are  too 
young.  It  is  absurd !  Give  me  your  brush- 
broom,  already  half  worn  out." 

The  little  peasant  thus  apostrophized  al- 
lowed her  broom  to  be  taken  from  her,  and 


82  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

Marie  bravely  took  her  place  among  the 
women  at  work,  but  not  without  having  first 
pinned  up  her  skirt  with  two  pins. 

"  Agnes  does  not  return,"  said  Vera,  anx- 
iously.    "Suppose  I  go  for  her?" 

"No,  no,"  replied  her  mother.  "If  you 
went  after  her,  in  a  moment  Mademoiselle  Titof 
would  go  after  you,  and,  neither  of  you  coming 
back,  I  should  start  off  to  find  you  all.  Mean- 
time each  one  ^yould  return  by  a  different  way, 
and  would  then  go  back  in  search  of  the  others. 
I  know  all  about  that." 

However,  Dosia  was  not  at  ease,  and  the 
time  seemed  long  to  her.  She  was  wondering 
whether  she  ought  not  to  go  to  the  house, 
when  the  sound  of  the  bells  drew  her  attention 
to  the  road. 

"  A  traveller !  "  said  Baranine,  who  had  come 
up.  "Well,  he  will  have  a  nice  time  passing 
here !  The  road  has  caved  in.  and  if  he  has 
more  than  three  horses  he  will  be  overturned 
in  the  new  ditch." 


THE  FOREST  BURNS.  83 

But  the  bells  did  not  sound  like  those  of  a 
team  on  the  trot;   they  approached  slowly. 

"What  the  devil  is  it?"  said  the  puzzled 
general. 

Just  then  there  appeared  on  the  road  a  truly 
extraordinary  equipage,  —  an  old  white  horse, 
drawing  an  enormous  hogshead,  mounted  on 
four  wheels,  which  was  provided  with  a  spout, 
and  a  pail  with  a  handle  to  draw  up  the  water. 
On  the  horse,  seated  comfortably  enough, 
with  her  feet  on  the  shaft,  Agnes  held  the 
reins. 

"  Agnes  !  And  there  is  water !  "  cried  Bara- 
nine.     "  Hurrah  !  " 

The  astonished  workmen  stopped  a  moment. 

"  Hurrah !  "  repeated  the  general.  "  Hur- 
rah for  the  young  lady !  Now  the  forest  is  as 
good  as  saved." 

Every  voice  repeated  the  hurrah. 

With  the  modesty  of  true  merit  Agnes  con- 
tinued to  advance.  Then  she  jumped  down 
from  the  horse  and  gave  the  pail  with  the  long 


84  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

handle  to  her  father,  who  had  come  to  meet 
her. 

"  This  was  an  idea,"  said  Platon,  "  and  a 
good  one.     How  did  you  manage  it  ?  " 

A  half-dozen  men  with  their  axes  were 
already  cutting  a  path  through  the  underbrush, 
which  was  about  to  take  fire.  Others,  at  the 
same  time,  were  pouring  water  to  prevent  the 
fire  from  surrounding  the  pioneers. 

"  I  thought  of  the  hogshead  all  of  a  sudden," 
replied  Agnes  to  her  father,  "  and  remembered 
that  I  had  seen  the  old  Whitey  draw  it  many  a 
time.  I  knew  he  was  gentle  as  a  lamb,  and  I 
took  him  from  the  stable.  I  had  some  trouble 
in  harnessing  him  because  I  did  not  know  how 
to  do  it.  There  was  not  a  soul  in  the  house, 
naturally.  At  last  I  made  it  out.  I  went 
to  the  banks  of  the  stream,  and  there  —  oh,  it 
was  such  fun !  —  I  found  a  strange  gentle- 
man who  was  about  to  ford  the  river  in 
his  carriage.  When  I  tried  to  draw  up  the 
water   to    put    it   in    the    hogshead    I    spilled 


THE  FOREST  BURNS.  85 

much  more  over  myself  than  I  put  in  the 
cask." 

"  That  was  not  strange,"  said  Platon,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Then  the  gentleman  took  the  reins  and 
ordered  his  coachman  to  fill  the  hogshead. 
You  cannot  imagine  how  comical  it  was, — this 
coachman,  with  his  long  cloth  coat  and  Mus- 
covite cap,  drawing  up  the  water  with  the 
gravest  manner,  while  the  other  held  the 
horses  with  an  equally  serious  air.  I  was 
dying  to  laugh,  but  I  did  not." 

"You  are  wet?"  said  Platon,  passing  his 
hands  over  his  daughter's  shoulders. 

"  I  was,  but  one  dries  quickly  in  this  heat. 
I  do  not  know  how  you  can  endure  it.  Just 
see  Vera  and  Mademoiselle  Titof,  sitting  over 
there  for  pleasure.  It  is  cool  in  the  woods. 
On  the  bank  of  the  stream  it  is  shady;  it  is 
delicious.  The  cask  is  empty.  I  will  go  and 
fetch  some  more  water." 

With  a  quick,   light  movement  she  jumped 


86  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

on  the  back  of  the  horse,  arranged  her  dress 
about  her  feet  as  if  it  had  been  a  riding-habit, 
shook  the  reins  on  the  back  of  the  gentle  beast, 
and  made  it  trot,  although  for  ten  years  it  had 
given  up  the  habit  of  doing  so.  With  the 
decreasing  sound  of  the  bells  Agnes  disap- 
peared under  the  thick  birches  which  made 
an  arch  above  her  head. 

Baranine  had  watched  her  going  off  with  a 
mingling  of  gratitude  and  admiration,  while  he 
also  felt  like  laughing.  The  picture  was,  at 
the  same  time,  both  graceful  and  comical.  He 
immediately  turned  towards  the  women,  and 
shouted  in  a  thundering  voice :  — 

"  Fools  that  you  are,  there  is  not  one  of 
you  who  would  have  had  the  idea  of  this 
young  lady.  You  have  water-casks  in  the 
village ;  go  and  fetch  them  quickly !  " 

All  the  women  scattered  at  first,  then  three 
or  four  ran  on,  while  the  others  returned  to 
their  work.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  the 
woods  were  filled  with  the  sound  of  the  bells, 


THE  FOREST  BURNS.  8/ 

and  Agnes,  as  she  returned,  found  herself 
obliged  to  give  up  Whitey's  reins  to  coarser 
hands  than  her  own. 

"  It  is  too  bad  !  "  said  she,  sighing.  "  I  have 
not  had  such  fun  for  a  long  time." 

The  day  was  passing.  The  sun  was  disap- 
pearing behind  the  forest,  and  the  flames 
seemed  redder.  Every  one  was  weary,  and  yet 
the  danger  was  not  overcome.  They  were  sure 
that  the  fire  would  not  be  spread  further  by 
the  roots,  because  the  ditches  dug  so  hastily, 
now  constantly  filled  with  water,  formed  an 
impassable  barrier  around  the  great  extent  of 
the  clearing  which  had  been  sacrificed.  But 
the  trees  whose  branches  were  already  nearly 
consumed  began  to  burn  at  the  trunks.  If 
their  fall  should  precipitate  them  beyond  the 
trench  there  would  be  much  to  fear.  The 
forest,  already  singed  by  the  intensity  of  the 
blaze,  had  more  than  once  taken  fire,  in  some 
bushes  upon  its  borders,  from  the  rain  of 
burning  cinders.      A  path  was  finally  opened 


88  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

through  the  blazing  underbrush,  and  the  thing 
now  to  be  done  was  to  cut  down  two  birches 
which  were  especially  dangerous  by  their  near- 
ness to  the  road.  The  lavish  use  of  the  water 
permitted  the  wood-cutters  to  begin  their 
work,  but  no  one  seemed  anxious  to  put  the 
axe  to  a  tree  which  was  dropping  burning 
coals  instead  of  fruit. 

"  Forward,  children  \  "  exclaimed  Bara- 
nine.  "  If  I  were  young  I  should  be  the 
first." 

A  very  excusable  hesitation  was  still  to  be 
seen  among  the  group  of  men.  Suddenly  a 
jet  sprung  forth  spontaneously  from  a  tree, 
near  the  ditch,  which  had  been  spared  until 
now.  The  fire  curled  up  the  leaves  with 
an  almost  joyous  crackling;  the  branches 
snapped  and  threw  their  flaming  fragments 
into  the  air  like   a  show   of  fireworks. 

Ermile  hastily  seized  one  of  the  wet  linen 
sacks  with  which  the  men  covered  their  heads 
and  shoulders,  and  with  an  axe  in  his  hand  he 


THE  FOREST  BURNS.  89 

rushed  forward  under  the  rain  of  fire.  The 
sound  of  the  first  blow  of  his  axe  was  heard  in 
the  profound  silence  which  had  before  been 
interrupted  only  by  the  hissing  of  the  flames. 
Kola  followed  him  immediately,  and  Baranine's 
cook,  a  tall,  sturdy,  fine-looking  fellow,  rushed 
after  him.  All  the  peasants  would  have  fol- 
lowed if  the  general  had  not  called  them  to 
order. 

The  flame  and  smoke  sprang  in  fantastic 
jets,  from  time  to  time,  and  revealed  the  work- 
men to  those  who  remained  on  the  road. 
Agnes  took  a  little  turn  on  the  road.  She  wished 
to  see  what  would  happen,  and  she  went  near 
the  tree  where  Ermile  was  at  work.  She  could 
not  see  the  pioneers,  but  she  heard  their  voices, 
though  they  scarcely  spoke  in  the  smoke  which 
blinded  them  and  stung  their  throats.  A 
group  of  children  had  followed  her  and  re- 
mained near,  watching  the  oscillations  of  the 
tree  which  was  attacked.  At  each  blow  of  an 
axe  it  shook  down  a  shower  of  sparks.     Two 


90  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

other  trees  trembled  also,  and  seemed  ready  to 
fall.  A  cracking  was  heard  and  the  trunk  of 
Ermile's  tree  bent  towards  the  road.  The 
children  ran  away,  except  one,  younger  or  less 
intelligent  than  the  others,  who  was  looking 
up  open-mouthed. 

Agnes  began  to  retreat,  measuring,  with 
her  eye,  the  probable  extent  of  the  danger, 
receding  but  an  inch  at  a  time,  for  the  sake  of 
caution.  The  pleasure  of  danger  was  a  new 
and  delicious  sensation  to  her,  and  she  wished 
to  enjoy  it  to  the  full. 

"  Agnes  !  "  cried  out  some  voice  in  alarm. 

*'  Here  I  am,"  replied  she,  mechanically. 

She  heard  steps  behind  her,  and,  thinking 
she  would  be  scolded  for  exposing  herself 
thus,  she  cast  one  look  of  regret  at  the  tree, 
now  leaning  over  so  much  that  its  fall  was 
imminent,  and  at  the  same  instant  she  saw, 
opposite  to  her,  the  child,  petrified  in  un- 
conscious   admiration. 

"  Agnes  !  "  cried  her  father,  with  an   imper- 


THE  FOREST  BURNS.  91 

ative  tone ;  he  was  a  few  yards  behind  her. 
The  tree  cracked,  staggered,  throwing  out  a 
torrent  of  sparks. 

Agnes  rushed  forward,  with  an  impulsive, 
irresistible  movement,  and  snatched  the  child 
up  in  her  arms.  At  the  same  instant  the  tree 
fell  across  the  road,  exactly  in  the  place  where 
the  little  peasant  had  stood,  and  they  were 
both  surrounded  with  a  whirlwind  of  flame 
and   smoke. 

Agnes  leaped  rapidly  over  the  largest  pieces 
of  burning  wood,  walked  over  the  rest  without 
thinking,  and  reappeared  in  the  road.  She 
was  not  injured,  but  her  dress  was  burned  in 
five  or  six  places,  and  her  shoes  were  begin- 
ning to  smoke. 

She  put  the  child  down,  safe  and  sound,  and 
looked  about  her,  smiling  vaguely  in  the  loved 
faces  which  surrounded  her;  then,  raising  her 
hand  to  her  half-burned  hair,  she  fainted 
and   fell    into   her   father's   arms. 

A  little   fresh   water   on   her  temples   soon 


92  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

restored  her.  When  she  opened  her  eyes 
Ermile  was  watching  her  with  a  face  full  of 
anxiety,  and  she  could  not  resist  smiling,  to 
reassure  him. 

"  Agnes  !  "  said  her  mother's  trembling  voice, 
"  I  ought  to  be  very  angry  with  you  "  — 

"  O  mamma !  do  not  say  that ;  you  would 
have  done  the  same.     Where  is  the  child?" 

It  was  near  by,  in  the  arms  of  its  mother, 
who  was  weeping  violently. 

"  Everything  is  all  right,"  said  Agnes,  ris- 
ing, "  except  that  I  have  burned  my  dress.  It 
does  not  look  very  well." 

Nothing  further  was  said :  all  hearts  were 
too  full  for  words.  Meantime  the  two  other 
birches  had  fallen  in  the  burnt  clearing. 
Water  was  thrown  all  about  them,  and  the 
danger  seemed  to  be  over. 

At^this  moment  Kola  and  the  cook  came 
up/  as  black  and  smutty  as  Ermile  him- 
self. 

"You  are  a  brave  fellow,"  said  Baranine  to 


THE  FOREST  BURNS.  93 

his  cook,  who  was  running  rapidly  towards  the 
house.     "  Where  are  you  running  so  fast?  " 

"  Ah,  Your  Excellency,"  replied  the  worthy 
fellow,  turning  around,  "  it  is  six  o'clock,  and  I 
have  not  yet  begun  to  prepare  your  dinner!" 
He  went  on  without  waiting  for  a  reply, 

"  Why,  how  you  look,  all  of  you  !  "  said  the 
general.  "  I  am  ashamed  to  be  clean,  upon 
my  word !  " 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Ermile,  looking  at  his 
hands,  "  I  must  be  hideous."  He  cast  an 
anxious  look  towards  Agnes,  who  was  always 
so  exacting  as  to  appearances.  She  looked 
him  straight  in  the  face. 

"  It  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  have 
thought  you  handsome,"  said  she,  heartily. 

The  others  laughed.  Ermile  did  not  feel 
like  laughing.  He  felt  an  earnestness  in 
her  voice  which  precluded  all  thought  of 
pleasantry. 

"  It  is  the  same  with  her,"  thought  he ; 
"  with  her  scorched  hair  and  her  tattered  dress 


94  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

she  seems  to  me  a  hundred  times  more  beauti- 
ful than  in  an  exquisite  toilet." 

Some  watchmen  were  left  to  look  out  for 
the  burned  precinct,  and  the  others  slowly  took 
their  way  to  the  house.  Each  one  felt  himself 
exhausted  and  in  need  of  rest.  The  young 
people  were  hungry  as  well,  and  Vera  dared  to 
say  so. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  will  have  for 
dinner,"  said  the  general,  "  and  I  am  miser- 
able." 

As  they  approached  the  kitchen  the  cook 
came  out  to  meet  them.  He  had  washed  his 
face  and  hands  and  put  on  a  fresh  pink 
shirt. 

"  Excuse  me.  Your  Excellency,"  said  he  to 
the  general,  in  a  confused  manner. 

"Can  you  give  us  nothing  to  eat?"  asked 
Baranine,  in  a  vexed  tone. 

"  Pardon,  Excellency  !  There  is  a  cold  roast, 
an  aspic  of  game,  a  cold  fish  in  jelly,  and 
bouillon  for  soup." 


THE  FOREST  BURNS.  95 

"Ah,  you  stupid  boy! — what  else  do  we 
need?"  said  Baranine,  gayly. 

"  You  ordered  some  ices,  and  it  takes  time 
to  make  them." 

A  suppressed  laugh  ran  through  the  com- 
pany. 

"We  shall  not  have  ices  !  "  cried  Dosia,  with 
the  merriment  of  her  best  days.  "  Just  think, 
my  children,  you  will  have  no  ices !  They  are 
all  melted !  " 

Her  gesture  of  dismay  was  so  droll  that 
the  cook  tried  to  hide  his  shamefaced 
smile,  and,  not  succeeding,  he  returned  to  his 
kitchen. 

"  Look  here,  Nikita !  "  called  out  the  general. 

The  cook's  head  appeared  at  the  window. 

"  How  soon  can  we  have  dinner?  " 

"You  must  give  me  half  an  hour  at  least. 
Your  Excellency,  for  the  fire  is  out;  it  is  a 
pity." 

At  this  unexpected  remark  they  all  laughed 
again.     "  There  is  no  more  fire  1  —  that  is  really 


96  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

sad,"  said  Baranine,  laughing  louder  than  the 
rest.     "Ah,  well,  we  will  wait!" 

It  required  more  than  an  hour  for  our  friends 
to  remove  the  stains  of  their  labor.  They 
came  to  the  dining-room,  at  last,  in  the  drollest 
costumes.  Dosia,  her  husband,  and  the  gov- 
erness were  able  to  wear  their  own  clothes, 
after  brushing  them.  Vera  also  wore  her  dress, 
although  it  was  badly  enough  soiled  by  the 
cinders;  but  the  young  men  were  obliged  to 
borrow  from  the  wardrobe  of  the  general, 
which,  in  spite  of  the  willingness  of  his 
valet  de  chambrey  could  furnish  nothing  that 
was  not  three  or  four  times  too  large  for 
them. 

Since  there  was  no  mistress  of  the  house  to 
whom  Agnes  and  Marie  could  apply,  they  had 
been  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the  chamber- 
maid. They  came  in  dressed  as  peasants,  each 
one  with  her  hair  in  a  single  braid  down  her 
back.  They  were  greeted  with  shouts  and 
laughter. 


THE  FOREST  BURNS. 


97 


They  took  their  places  at  the  table,  and  the 
repast  was  served  in  an  original  and  irregular 
manner,  which  the  general,  even,  had  not  the 
heart  to  censure,  and  due  allowance  was  made  for 
the  circumstances.  The  dinner  went  on  slowly, 
the  dishes  were  brought  in  at  long  intervals, 
and  it  seemed  that  the  servants  wished  to  gain 
time.  At  length  the  vegetable  had  followed 
the  roast,  and,  having  been  eaten,  the  general 
leaned  tov/ards  Dosia  to  ask  her  to  give  the 
signal  for  rising.  At  this  moment,  and  without 
exactly  observing  the  proper  form,  the  waiter 
placed  on  the  table  porcelain  plates,  upon  which 
were  the  knives  and  forks  for  the  dessert. 

"  But  there  is  no  dessert,"  grumbled  the 
general.  "  Nikita  said  that  he  could  not  make 
the  ices,  and  I  don't  wonder,  poor  fellow ! " 

"  Your  Excellency,  there  is  a  dessert,"  po- 
litely murmured  the  servant. 

"  Oh,  there  is  a  dessert !  It  is  for  that  you 
have  gained  — -  or  lost  as  much  time  as  possi- 
ble.    Let  us  see  Nikita's  surprise." 


98  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

The  steward  entered,  triumphantly  bearing  a 
pyramid.  All  the  servants,  with  an  air  of 
pleasure,  seemed  to  give  it  their  best  wishes 
as  it  passed  in. 

"  What  have  you  there  ?  "  asked  the  puzzled 
Baranine. 

"  Raspberry  ice-cream  !  "  cried  Vera,  clap- 
ping her  hands. 

It  was  true.  In  the  shadow  of  the  pantry 
the  silhouette  of  the  cook  might  be  seen, 
who  wanted  to  witness  the  effect  of  his  sur- 
prise. 

"  Nikita,  come  here,"  commanded  the  gen- 
eral, coughing,  to  clear  his  voice,  which  was 
husky  with  emotion. 

"  Here  I  am.  Your  Excellency,"  said  the 
good  fellow,  appearing  at  the  door-way. 

"  No  one  could  have  done  what  you  have 
done  to-day,  Nikita,"  said  his  master,  seriously. 
"  It  is  not  on  account  of  the  tree  you  cut  down 
that  I  say  this,  although  the  tree  in  itself,  and 
in  that  furnace, —  in  short,  others  did  as  much 


THE  FOREST  BURNS.  99 

as  that.  But  it  is  for  your  service  as  cook.  I 
am  satisfied  with  you,  Nikita." 

"  I  thank  Your  Excellency.  God  give  you 
long  life,"  said  the  young  man,  smiling  with 
content,  as  he  retired,  quietly. 

"  The  Russians  are  like  that,"  said  Baranine, 
in  French,  to  his  guests.  "We  are  a  curious 
nation.  We  are  not  yet  entirely  spoiled. 
Come,  my  friends,  let  us  eat  the  ice ;  that  will 
please  him." 

In  spite  of  the  persuasions  of  the  general 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Sourof  wished  to  return 
home  that  evening.  It  seemed  to  them  that 
since  morning  a  century  had  passed. 

"  You  will  carry  to  Sourova  an  odor  of  fire 
which  will  last  at  least  a  fortnight,"  said  the 
excellent  man ;  "  it  will  prevent  your  for- 
getting me,  and  I  shall  not  forget  you ;  I  have 
good  reason  for  that." 

He  pinched  Agnes's  ear  lightly,  while  she 
blushed  and  smiled  at  the  same  time. 

"  What   a   curious  thing !  "  continued  he,  — • 


ICX)  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  one  invites  his  friends  to  pass  the  day  with 
him,  and  amuses  them  with  a  fire.  He  makes 
them  work  like  firemen,  and  everybody  is  sat- 
isfied. What  do  you  want?  You  seem  to  be 
meditating  a  question." 

"  I  want  to  know  something  of  that  little 
boy;  who  is  he?  " 

"  The  one  you  saved  ?  He  is  the  son  of  the 
second  coachman.  His  mother  is  as  stupid  as 
a  goose ;  his  father  is  often  drunk.  He  will  be 
a  fool,  like  his  father  and  mother.  Meantime, 
he  owes  his  life  to  you." 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  said  Agnes,  sadly.  "  In  novels 
those  who  are  saved  are  always  extraordinary 
beings,  full  of  merit  and  virtue ;  and  in  real 
life  it  is  a  simpleton,  and  the  son  of  a  sim- 
pleton, who  will  never  see  further  than  the  end 
of  his  nose.*' 

"Do  you  wish  to  have  him  carried  back?" 
asked  the  general,  laughing.  "  There  is  still 
fire  enough  to  burn  up  the  little  brute." 

"  Thank  you,"    replied    Agnes,  in   the    same 


THE  FOREST  BURNS.  lOI 

tone.  "Since  he  has  escaped,  it  was  his 
destiny.  You  know  one  does  not  hang  twice 
by  the  same  rope;  but  you  must  grant  it  is 
less  agreeable  for  me  than  if  he  had  been  a 
prince    in    a   fairy   tale." 

"  A  matter  of  self-conceit !  "  said  Ermile, 
near  her,  so  low  that  she  alone  heard  it.  She 
turned  suddenly. 

"  Pardon  me,  if  I  wound  you,"  said  he,  very 
low  and  with  much  kindness.  "  But  a  good 
action  should  not  be  measured  by  its  object ; 
it  is  simply  a  matter  of  humanity.  See  the 
physicians  in  time  of  an  epidemic.  Do  they 
trouble  themselves  to  value  intellectually  or 
morally  those  for  whom  they  endanger  their 
lives?" 

She  turned  away  thoughtfully,  but  her  face 
expressed  no  anger.  A  moment  later  they 
entered  the  carriages.  The  two  young  men  rode 
with  Monsieur  and  Madame  Sourof.  The  four 
young  girls  followed  in  the  second  carriage,  and 
Agnes  said  no   more  to   Ermile  that  evening. 


I02  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

As  usual  he  shared  the  chamber  of  Kola, 
but  his  sleep  was  troubled ;  more  than  a  dozen 
times  he  awoke  with  a  start,  at  the  moment 
when,  in  his  dream,  Agnes  was  surrounded  with 
flames,  bearing  a  child  in  her  arms. 


THE  BEARS.  103 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE   BEARS. 

'^  I  ^EN  days  had  passed,  and  the  Sourof 
-■-  family  were  beginning  to  recover  from 
their  alarm,  when  one  day,  about  two  o'clock, 
as  they  were  all  sitting  in  the  drawing-room,  to 
avoid  the  heat  outside,  a  sound  of  bells  was 
heard  coming  along  by  the  garden  hedge.  It 
ceased  in  the  court,  and  the  servant  appeared, 
with  a  card  on  a  salver. 

"  Constantine  Semenof, "  read  Platon.  "  I 
do  not  know  him.     Who  is  he?" 

"  He  is  a  nobleman,  monsieur,"  which  means, 
in  the  language  of  servants,  that  a  man  is  a 
gentleman. 

"What  does  he  wish?" 

"  He  desires  to  see  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Sourof,  in  order  to  pay  his  respects  to  them 
as  a  neighbor." 


I04  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  It  must  be  the  new  proprietor  at  Kouzlo," 
said  Dosia, 

"  Show  him  in,"  said  Platon. 

The  visitor  presented  himself  in  the  most 
approved  manner,  wearing  a  diagonal  cloth  of 
the  English  fashion  of  that  year.  He  had, 
however,  entirely  the  bearing  of  a  Russian  of 
good  breeding. 

**  Oh  !  "  said  Agnes,  in  a  low  tone. 

Mademoiselle  looked  at  her,  surprised  at  her 
rudeness. 

"  It  is  the  gentleman  of  the  river  bank,"  said 
Agnes,  in  a  whisper,  by  way  of  explanation. 

The  new-comer  did  not  appear  to  notice 
Agnes  more  than  the  others.  He  advanced 
towards  Platon,  mentioned  his  name,  and  re- 
quested the  pleasure  of  being  presented  to 
Madame  Sourof.  All  this  was  irreproachable. 
Dosia  invited  her  guest  to  be  seated ;  he  com- 
plied with  grace,  and  a  conversation  began. 

He  was,  in  fact,  the  new  proprietor  of  a  very 
considerable  estate,  situated  some  versus  distant, 


THE  BEARS.  10$ 

on  the  other  side  of  the  stream  which  watered 
the  general's  forest,  but  nearer  to  Sourova.  He 
was  making  the  necessary  round  of  ceremoni- 
ous visits  among  his  neighbors,  and  was  full  of 
praise  of  the  surroundings  and  of  the  country. 

Semenof  had  tact,  and  proved  this  by  speak- 
ing of  himself  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  him- 
self known  without  wearying  his  hearers  with 
his  personality.  He  showed  no  curiosity  re- 
garding those  whom  he  visited. 

When  inviting  him  to  sit  down,  Dosia  had 
simply  said,  "  My  daughters,"  with  a  gesture 
which  designated  Agnes  and  Vera.  His  silent 
inclination,  with  a  perfect  elegance  of  manner, 
had  provoked  a  courtesy  from  Vera  and  a  slight 
bow  from  Agnes. 

The  proprieties  being  ended,  the  visitor  ad- 
dressed himself  to  Platon. 

"  Has  your  friend.  General  Baranine,  put  out 
his  fire?  "  asked  he,  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  The  same  day,  after  a  few  hours,"  was  the 
response.      "  Did  you  know  of  it?  " 


I06  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

Agnes,  who  was  annoyed,  said  calmly,  "  This 
is  the  gentleman  who  made  his  coachman  fill 
the  cask." 

"It  was  you?"  said  Dosia,  laughing.  "You 
should  have  said  so  at  once ;  you  would  have 
been  treated  as  a  benefactor." 

"  I  should  prefer  to  be  received  on  my  own 
account,"  replied  Semenof,  with  great  courtesy. 

There  was  more  cordiality  in  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  next  few  minutes.  Semenof,  with  an 
admirable  reserve,  avoided  speaking  of  Agnes, 
or  addressing  himself  directly  to  her,  and, 
moreover,  when  he  was  gone  no  one  could 
even   say  that  hfe  had  looked   at  her. 

"  That  was  a  visit  to  you,  Agnes,"  said  Dosia, 
in  a  light  tone.  "  You  have  fished  up  an  adorer 
on  the  bank  of  the  river,  with  your  handled 
pail." 

"  Mamma,  you  know  very  well  that  I  detest 
such  jokes,"  replied  the  young  girl,  in  an  angry 
voice,  and  she  shut  herself  up  until  evening  in 
the  silence  of  her  worst  days. 


THE    BEARS.  10/ 

After  a  proper  time  had  elapsed  Monsieur 
Constantine  Semenof,  who  had  meantime  re- 
ceived a  visit  from  Platon,  presented  himself  a 
second  time  at  Sourova.  The  head  of  the 
family  had  made  inquiries  concerning  his  visitor, 
and  all  that  he  could  learn  being  very  favor- 
able, the  new-comer  waa  invited  to  dinner  the 
following  week.  Such  is  Russian  hospitality, 
always  generous.  He  came,  and  was  ex- 
tremely correct,  as  usual,  but  he  showed  a 
shade   more  of  marked  attention  to  Agnes. 

She  feigned  not  to  see  it ;  but  Vera,  who  was 
not  content  with  being  a  good  little  girl,  round 
and  plump  as  a  quail,  was,  into  the  bargain  a 
cunning  gypsy.  This  malicious  Vera  said 
that  evening,  as  she  was  going  to  bed :  — 

"  Ania,  is  it  for  the  pleasure  of  papa's  con- 
versation that  Monsieur  Semenof  comes  here?  " 

"  I  believe  not,"  replied  Agnes,  without  sus- 
picion, "  for  he  talks  to  papa  of  the  least 
interesting  things,  and  the  first  one  who  hap- 
pens to  come  along  will  do  as  well  for  him." 


I08  DOST  A' S   DAUGHTER. 

"  Ania,"  again  said  the  sly  little  one,  "  is  it 
for  the  sake  of  mamma's  beautiful  eyes  that 
Monsieur  Semenofif  comes?" 

"  Vera  !  "  cried  Mademoiselle  Titof,  who  was 
scandalized.  But  Vera  was  not  to  be  abashed, 
and  continued :  — 

"  Ania,  it  must  be,  then,  for  your  beautiful 
eyes,  for  if  you  had  been  a  Charlotte-russe  you 
would  have  melted  under  the  fire  of  his 
looks." 

"Vera,  will  you  hold  your  tongue?"  said 
Mademoiselle  Titof,  quite  upset  at  hearing 
such  reflections  from  the  mouth  of  her  inno- 
cent pupil. 

The  little  innocent  leaped  on  her  bed,  seated 
herself,  and  arranged  her  small  feet  under  her 
night-dress.  Then  she  took  her  knees  in  her 
arms,  and,  resting  her  little  chin  on  them,  she 
looked  at  her  sister  with  the  most  audacious 
knowingness,  then,  half  turning  her  face,  flushed 
with  pleasure,  towards  her  governess :  — 

"  You  don't  understand  me,"  said  she.     "  No 


THE   BEARS.  109 

one  knows  what  I  can  do.  But  nothing  can 
prevent  my  being  mamma's  daughter,  and 
mamma  said  many  worse  things  at  my  age 
without   minding  what   she   did"  — 

"  Vera  !  Vera  !  "  cried  Mademoiselle  Titof, 
amazed  at  this  new  language. 

"Kola  is  papa's  son  —  pure  cream  —  and 
Agnes,  nobody  knows  —  there  is  some  cream, 
and  some  whey  —  very  sour." 

"Is  that  all,  little  fool?"  said  the  elder 
sister,    in   her   most   scornful   tone. 

Vera  shook  her  head,  and  continued,  quite 
undisturbed :  — 

"  I  am  a  little  jumping-Jack  out  of  its 
box !  No  one  knew  what  was  inside ;  it 
is  a  surprise.  But  I  shall  not  show  all 
my  merits  until  my  sister  Agnes  is  married 
and  gone ;  when  that  great,  clumsy  Ermile, 
or,  better,  this  new  wooden  gentleman  who 
dined  here  to-day ;  or,  better  yet,  another  still 
more  new,  shall  have  led  away  my  dear  sister. 
You   know   that   he    is  made  of  wood,  —  your 


no  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

lover.  His  head  can  be  separated  from  his 
neck.  At  night  he  takes  it  off  and  puts  it 
on  the  table  so  as  not  to  hurt  it." 

"  Vera !  Vera !  you  are  crazy !  "  said  Mad- 
emoiselle Titof,  falling  into  a  chair. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  said  the  child,  with  extreme  can- 
dor. "  But  you  do  not  appreciate  my  kind- 
ness. If  I  had  shown  all  my  qualities  while 
Agnes  is  still  in  the  house,  between  us  two 
you  would  have  lost  your  head,  dear  madem- 
oiselle ;  but  with  one  at  a  time  you  may 
manage  it.  There !  I  have  finished.  I  will 
say  no  more  until  the  day  of  your  wedding, 
Agnes.     Good-night." 

She  dove  down  quickly  under  the  bed- 
clothes, and  said  no  more.  A  minute  later 
her  regular  breathing  announced  that  she  was 
asleep.  Mademoiselle  Titof  and  Agnes  went 
into  the  next  room. 

"  Well,  this  is  something  new !  "  said  the  dis- 
mayed governess.  "Who  could  have  thought 
it?" 


THE   BEARS.  Ill 

"  I  have  suspected  it  more  than  once,"  re- 
plied Agnes ;  "  but  it  is  a  surprise  all  the  same. 
It  will  annoy  mamma." 

"  Happily  Vera  is  not  a  dozen  years  old ; 
she  may  be    corrected." 

Agnes  smiled  involuntarily.  She  knew  by 
experience  that  one  does  not  correct  her  dis- 
position unless  she  wishes  to  do  so  herself; 
but  her  smile  was  mingled  with  bitterness, 
because  she  was  not  inclined  to  take  things 
in  good  part. 

"  It  is  true  that  he  is  wooden,  this  Semenof," 
thought  she  before  she  went  to  sleep.  "  He 
is  also  as  proper  as  a  well-clothed  marionette. 
Happily  we  shall  not  see  him  often,  I  hope." 

In  this  Agnes  was  deceived.  Semenof  did 
come  often,  —  twice  a  week,  at  least,  —  in 
immaculate  dress,  as  usual ;  and  in  the  inter- 
val he  sent,  on  the  ground  of  being  a  near 
neighbor,  superb  fruit  and  flowers  to  Madame 
Sourof. 

"  This  gentleman  is  very  polite,"  said  Dosia, 


112  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

one  day,  as  she  received  a  basket  of  hot-house 
grapes ;  "  but  he  annoys  me  a  little,  because  I 
do  not  know  how  to  acknowledge  his  polite- 
ness, not  wishing  it"  — 

"  We  shall  go  back  to  Petersburg  in  two 
months,"  said   Platon,  in   a  consoling  tone. 

"  Two  months  is  a  long  time  in  such  a  case. 
I  do  not  know  why  he  annoys  me  so,  this 
Monsieur  Semenof." 

"  He  has  a  gift  for  it !  "  said  Vera,  from  her 
corner. 

Fortunately  her  mother  did  not  hear  her. 

A  servant  entered  bringing  a  very  large 
package.  "  The  furrier  sent  it,"  said  he,  put- 
ting it  on  the  floor. 

"  It  is  the  mother  of  my  bears,"  said  Agnes ; 
"  let  us  see  it,  mamma." 

The  strings  were  cut,  and  the  monstrous 
head  of  a  bear  of  the  largest  size  appeared, 
then  the  paws,  and  at   last  the  whole  skin. 

"  What  a  superb  carpet  for  your  father's 
work-room !  "    said   Dosia,  admiring  the  thick, 


THE   BEARS.  II3 

dark  fur.  "  But  it  smells  so  strong  of  the 
animal  that  it  is  unendurable;  it  must  be  hung 
out  for  several  days,  and  some  one  must  be 
careful  to  bring  it  into  the  drying-room  at 
night." 

The  skin  was  quickly  spread  out  on  the 
lawn,  under  the  beautiful  September  sun, 
which  still  gave  out  a  very  perceptible 
heat. 

"  Let  us  go  to  see  my  bears,"  said  Agnes ; 
"  it  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  paid  any  atten- 
tion to  them." 

"  Our  bears,"  corrected  Vera. 

Agnes  looked  at  her  crossly,  but  then  reflect- 
ing that  Vera,  having  begun  to  play  tricks 
upon  her  elders,  was  able  now  to  claim  the 
ownership  of  her  bear,  she  said  nothing. 

Dosia  followed  her  daughters  slowly,  look- 
ing pleasantly  around.  She  had  preserved 
her  wonderful  facility  for  interesting  herself 
in  everything,  and  her  life  was  full  of  unfore- 
seen enchantments  and  pleasant  discoveries. 


114  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  How  they  have  grown  !  "  said  Agnes.  "  It 
is  at  least  a  fortnight  since  I  have  brought 
them  anything.  Michka,  Michka,  come 
here !  " 

But  the  summoned  Michka,  who  was  sitting 
up,  regarded  her  with  a  sullen  air. 

She  had  rested  her  hands  against  the  bars  of 
the  grating  in  order  to  see  them  better.  Sud- 
denly the  other  bear,  growling,  extended  his 
paw  and  muzzle  at  the  same  moment  towards 
the  delicate  white  hand,  which  appeared  to  him 
like  a  dainty  morsel. 

Without  screaming  Agnes  drew  back  hastily, 
but  her  pallor  showed  how  terrified  she  was. 
Dosia  ran  to  her  daughter,  and,  with  her 
handkerchief  wet  in  the  fountain,  immedi- 
ately bathed    the    deep    scratches. 

"  It  is  nothing,  mamma,"  said  the  young 
girl ;   "  thank  you." 

However,  the  blood  was  flowing,  and  they 
returned  to  the  house  in  great  confusion. 
Platon  came  out  to  meet  them,  and,  when  he 


THE   BEARS.  II5 

heard  of  the  accident,  declared  that  the  two 
bears  should  be  killed  the  next  day. 

"  It  was  wrong  to  keep  them  so  long," 
said  he.  "  Such  beasts  are  only  fit  for  bear 
shows,  and  I  condemn  those  from  the  stand- 
point of  humanity.  It  is  cruelty  and  madness 
to  keep  them  in  confinement,  as  this  event 
has  proved." 

"  Papa,"  said  Agnes,  "  I  beg  you  not  to  kill 
my  bear;  it  was  his  brother  that  clawed  at 
me." 

"  And  to-morrow  yours  will  bite  some  one 
else.  No,  my  daughter,  what  I  have  said  I 
shall  do.  They  shall  not  be  made  to  suffer. 
A  ball  in  the  head,  and  they  will  no  longer 
be  dangerous." 

Agnes  was  very  much  displeased.  Since  her 
experience  in  the  forest  she  had  become 
enamored  of  danger,  and  the  scratch  of  the 
bear's  claw  had  given  her  less  physical  suffer- 
ing than  justifiable  pride  on  account  of  the 
courage  with   which  she    had   borne    it.     She 


Il6  DOS/A 'S  DAUGHTER. 

considered  her  father's  decision  as  a  personal 
affront,  and  fell  into  her  most  unsocial  humor.. 

Towards  evening  Vera,  wishing  to  console 
her,  came  to  her  secretly. 

"  Agnes,"  asked  she,  "  is  your  hand  very 
bad?" 

"  Very  bad?     No,  but  bad  enough." 

"  Can  you  move  it?" 

"  Yes  ;   but  not  much." 

"  It  is  the  left  hand,  luckily,  for  I  want  your 
help." 

"Why?" 

"  Ermile  and  Kola  are  coming  back  from 
their  visit  to  the  old  Drakof  this  evening.  I 
want  to  play  a  trick  on  them ;  but  first  promise 
me  that  you  will  not  tell  any  one." 

"  If  it  is  dangerous  I  shall  tell  it  imme- 
diately." 

"  It  is  not  dangerous ;  will  you  promise 
me?" 

"  Say  what  it  is,  and  if  it  is  dangerous  you 
will  not  do  it." 


THE  BEARS.  I  1 7 

"  All  right.  I  have  faith  in  you.  They  do 
not  know  that  the  bear-skin  has  come  home, 
and  they  have  forgotten  about  it.  I  want  to 
frighten  them." 

"How?"  asked  Agnes,  pleased  with  this 
prospect. 

"We  must  put  the  bear-skin  in  their  bed- 
room during  supper-time,  and  when  they  go  to 
bed  they  will  make  a  fine  racket.  Probably 
they  will  fire  a  pistol  at  it;  that  would  be 
delicious." 

Agnes  reflected..  She  had  all  her  mother's 
irrepressible  fondness  for  fun,  though  she 
very  rarely  indulged  herself  in  it ;  this  time 
the  occasion  was  too  tempting.  She  wished 
to  do  it  all  the  more  because  her  father  had 
passed  sentence  on  the  bears,  and  her  mother 
had  not  opposed  him. 

"  That  can  be  done,"  said  she ;  "  but  if  we 
are  caught  we  shall  be  scolded." 

"  That  is  nothing,"  replied  Vera,  lifting  her 
brows  disdainfully.     "  You  ought  to  have  been 


Il8  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

accustomed  to  that  long  ago,  and  I  must  get 
used  to  it.     It  will  happen  to  me  often  enough." 

Agnes  nodded  affirmatively.  Once  more  or 
less  was  not  of  importance,  and  then,  in  reality, 
she  was  not  sorry  to  brave  the  paternal 
authority. 

"  Very  well,"  said  she,  with  her  usual  dignity, 
"  at  eight  o'clock  we  will  go." 

"  Your  wooden  lover  dines  here ;  perhaps 
that  will  prevent  us." 

"  Oh,  no ;  since  they  will  not  find  the  bear 
until  they  go  to  bed." 

"  All  right,  we  will  do  it." 

The  delighted  Vera  leaped  on  her  sister's 
neck  and  stifled  her  with  kisses.  She  then 
went  away,  but  after  a  few  steps  returned. 

"  Say,  Agnes,  what  if,  instead  of  frightening 
these  great  boobies,  we  should  put  the  bear 
in  Mademoiselle  Titofs  dressing-room?  Per- 
haps that  would  be  still  more  fun." 

"  I  will  not  have  Mademoiselle  Titof  teased," 
said  Agnes,  gravely.     "  It  is  another  thing  with 


THE    BEARS.  II9 

the  young  men.  Kola  has  teased  us  enough ; 
it  would  only  be  paying  him  off." 

The  wooden  gentleman  arrived  about  five 
o'clock,  and  at  the  first  glance  Agnes  saw  that 
he  was  prepared  for  something  extraordinary. 
Not  that  his  dress  or  his  personal  appearance 
were  different  from  that  of  other  days,  but 
his  language  and  manners  betrayed  something 
important  and  premeditated. 

"  Look  out !  it's  coming  to-day,  Agnes," 
said  Vera,  softly,  as  she  passed  near  her. 

Fortunately  General  Baranine  came  almost 
immediately,  drawn  by  four  piebald  horses,  on 
which  he  plumed  himself  so  much  the  more 
because  their  color  was  not  the  fashion.  He 
had  bought  them  at  a  bargain,  for  almost  noth- 
ing. They  all  went  out  to  see  his  turnout,  and 
he  received  many  compliments  on  it.  Seme- 
nof,  alone,  approved  it  faintly. 

"  They  are  very  fine,"  said  he,  "  and  well 
matched ;  but,  general,  that  will  always  be  an 
eccentric  turnout  for  you ;  they  are  not  classic." 


I20  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

Kola  came  up  at  this  moment  with  Ermile, 
just  in  time  to  catch  this  sentence,  and,  in 
order  not  to  laugh,  he  was  forced  to  make 
so  droll  a  grimace  that  Agnes's  ill-humor 
could  not  hold  out  against  it.  Vera,  in  mock- 
ing gayety,  pinched  her  arm  enough  to  bring 
the  tears.  She  took  to  flight,  and  went  to 
stifle  her  laughter  in  her  pillow. 

"  It  is  classic  enough  for  him,"  said  Vera, 
who  had  followed  and  thrown  herself  on  the 
floor,  the  better  to  give  way  to  her  fun. 
"  Kola's  Greeks  and  Romans  were  simple 
vagrants  to  him !  Henceforth  he  shall  be 
called     *  Mojtsieur  Classigue,'  with  a  capital  C." 

The  dinner-bell  sounded.  "  We  shall  be 
scolded,"  said  Vera,  rising  quickly.  "  I  am 
not  sorry  for  that ;  it  makes  me  believe  myself 
to  be  a  grown-up  woman,  like  my  sister 
Agnes." 

The  company  came  from  all  directions  to  the 
dining-room,  so  large,  and  so  bright.  Dosia 
looked    at   her  daughters  severely;   but  it  was 


THE  BEARS.  121 

lost  on  them,  for  they  lowered  their  eyes  with 
the  most  effective  modesty.  Agnes  was  placed 
beside  Semenof,  who  had  not  appeared  to 
notice  her  flight  before  dinner.  He  was  ex- 
tremely amiable  and  she  extremely  polite. 
Unfortunately  during  the  whole  dinner  she 
could  not  help  hearing  Vera's  voice,  who,  while 
talking  unaffectedly,  now  to  Ermile,  and  again 
to  Mademoiselle  Titof,  managed  to  use  the 
word  "  classic  "  at  least  twice  every  five  min- 
utes. This  upset  Agnes's  politeness  a  little, 
as  she  feared  that  she  should  burst  into  a 
shout  of  laughter. 

At  length  the  dinner  was  over,  and  they  went 
into  the  drawing-room  for  the  coffee.  Bara- 
nine  announced  his  intention  of  leaving  almost 
immediately,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  be  late  with 
his  turnout  of  four  horses,  which  his  coachman 
was  driving  for  the  first  time.  Moreover,  the 
night  was  very  dark  in  spite  of  the  rising  of  the 
full  moon,  and  everything  gave  signs  of  heavy 
rain. 


122  DOS/A 'S   DAUGHTER. 

The  two  sisters  exchanged  a  knowing  look 
and  slipped  away  very  quietly. 

The  bear-skin  was  in  the  drying-room,  and, 
taking  a  little  lamp,  they  succeeded  in  carrying 
it  off,  one  holding  it  by  the  head,  and  the  other 
by  the  hind  paws.  They  carried  it  to  Kola's 
chamber,  on  the  upper  floor.  The  hour  was 
eminently  favorable,  as  the  domestics  were  eat- 
ing their  dinner  in  the  kitchen,  situated  in  an 
isolated  building,  as  is  the  fashion  in  the 
country. 

A  candle  was  lighted,  and  the  young  girls 
arranged  the  fur  in  several  ways  before  they 
found  that  which  was  most  effective.  At 
length,  after  many  unsuccessful  trials,  they 
thought  of  placing  it  on  two  chairs,  so  that 
the  head  would  be  at  about  the  height  of 
a  person's  eyes,  and  the  rest  of  the  skin 
well  supported.  In  the  shadow  of  the  curtains 
the  monstrous  beast  was  truly  frightful.  Then 
they  put  out  the  light,  closed  the  door,  and 
descended  noiselessly  to  the  parlor. 


THE    BEARS.  123 

The  gentlemen  had  disappeared,  and  the 
noise  of  the  balls  indicated  that  they  were 
in  the  bilHard-room.  General  Baranine  was 
standing  to  take  leave  of  his  hosts. 

Vera  ran  to  tell  her  father,  who  appeared 
with  Ermile,  their  billiard  queues  in  their 
hands;  with  them  they  made  a  military 
salute,  and  the  excellent  man  departed  at  the 
fastest   speed  of  his  piebald  horses. 

"  Can  I  speak  with  you  a  few  moments  ? " 
said  Monsieur  Semenof,  in  his  most  amiable 
tone. 

"Certainly,"   replied  Platon. 

"  My  children,"  said  Dosia,  "  go  and  play 
us    a  duet." 

"  The  Wedding  March  of  the  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,"  said  Vera,  with  such  an  air  of 
innocence  that  her  mother  did  not  notice  it, 
and  replied,  with  an  absent  air,  "Yes,  that,  or 
anything  you  like." 

Vera,  full  of  fun,  drew  her  sister  to  the 
piano,  and    made   such  a  noise  with    the  bass 


124  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

octaves,  that  if  Monsieur  Semenof  succeeded 
in  making  himself  heard  he  must  have  had  a 
loud  voice. 

After  the  march  a  scherzo,  after  the  scherzo 
a  nocturne.  The  last  was  played  very  softly, 
and  Semenof,  not  foreseeing  it,  this  phrase, 
which  he  pronounced  without  precaution,  was 
distinctly  heard :  — 

"The  advantages  of  fortune  are  not  to  be 
despised.  I  can  also  boast,  myself,  on  account 
of  my  family ;   my  grandfather  "  — 

Vera,  without  reason,  struck  at  that  moment 
a  tremendously  loud  chord  on  the  piano. 

"  You  will  never  know  who  his  grandfather 
was,"  said  she  to  her  sister ;  "  so  much  the 
better  "  — 

Semenof  had  lowered  his  tone,  perceiving 
that  the  music  had  ceased  to  exact  so  much 
effort  on  his  part.  The  nocturne  was  dying 
away  in  an  ethereal  softness,  when  the  door 
opposite  the  piano  was  violently  thrown  open, 
then    closed    again,    and    the    favorite    cham- 


THE  BEARS.  1 25 

bermaid  precipitated  herself  into  the  room, 
screaming   like    a   wild-cat. 

"  Miss  Agnes !  Miss  Agnes  !  the  bear !  " 

She  rushed  under  the  piano,  and  literally- 
hugged  Agnes's  knees,  in  which  she  buried 
her  clutching  fingers.  The  sober  people,  at 
the  other  end  of  the  vast  room,  rose  sud- 
denly. 

"  Now  we  have  it,"  said  Vera,  quickly. 

The  head  of  the  bear  appeared  at  the  door, 
which  was  half  opened  cautiously,  A  growl- 
ing was  heard ;  one  paw  was  shaken,  then  a 
second,  and  the  entire  beast  entered  on  the 
head  of  Kola,  who  growled  with  a  certain 
talent,  though  feebly,  in  comparison  to  the 
size  of  the  animal.  Ermile  followed  him  with 
a  disturbed  air.  There  was  smothered  laughter 
in  the  corridor,  where  the  presence  of  all 
the   servants    could    be  guessed. 

Kola  advanced  to  the  piano,  swinging  him- 
self along,  and  threw  the  fuc  down  at  his 
sisters'    feet.     The   chambermaid  gave    a   final 


126  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

scream ;  on  her  hands  and  knees  she  crawled 
in  against  the  wall,  and  sat  there,  with  dishev- 
elled hair,  and  eyes  starting  out  of  her 
head. 

"  This  is  the  greatest  impropriety,"  said 
Dosia,  angrily.  "  Such  jokes  as  these  can- 
not be  tolerated.     Go  out,  Nicolas  !  " 

"  Mamma,  I  am  to  blame,"  said  Agnes, 
bravely.  "  I  carried  the  skin  to  my  brother's 
room." 

"  Mamma,  it  was  I  who  thought  of  it,"  in- 
terrupted Vera.  "  Agnes  has  only  helped  me  ; 
and,  with  her  hand  all  bruised,  she  couldn't 
do  much." 

"  The  fault  is  all  mine,"  said  her  brother. 
"  If  I  had  left  the  skin  in  my  own  room  no 
one  would    have  known  it." 

Platon  and  Dosia  were  much  embarrassed 
between  their  three  children,  so  much  the 
more  since  Semenof  was  present,  without 
losing  his  urbanity  for  a  moment.  He  had 
barely  smiled  when  Agnes  accused  herself. 


THE   BEARS.  12/ 

"  That  is  enough ;  we  will  talk  it  over 
later,"  said  Platon,  and,  turning  to  Semenof, 
"Will   you    pardon    the    interruption,  sir?" 

"  Which  has  not  changed  my  feeling,"  re- 
plied Semenof,  bowing.  "  I  hold  to  my  re- 
quest; and  if  I  dared  I  should  say  that  I  am 
more  anxious  for  it  than  ever.  I  adore  wit 
and  humor,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  added 
he,  turning  himself  with  a  grave  bow  towards 
Agnes,  who  was  choking  with  laughter. 

"  You  are  very  fortunate,  monsieur,"  re- 
plied she.  "  I  enjoy  it  too ;  that  is  why  I 
cannot  endure  stiffness  and  compliments  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing." 

Semenof  did  not  answer,  but  he  turned 
pale.  "  What  sparkling  wit !  "  said  he,  with  a 
pleasant  smile,  addressing  Dosia.  "  I  shall 
have  the  honor  to  return,  on  any  day  you 
may  name,  to  resume  this  conversation." 

"  I  will  write  to  you,"  said  Platon,  heartily 
wishing  him  to  the  devil. 

"  I    shall   be    much   obliged.       I    am    your 


128  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

servant,  ladies.  My  dear  sir,  do  not  take  the 
trouble  "  — 

Escorted  by  Platon  he  took  his  leave  very 
properly;  mounted  his  calash,  and  left  Sou- 
rova. 

Kola  had  disappeared,  obeying  the  com- 
mand of  his  mother,  but  he  remained  near, 
so  as  to  answer  if  he  should  be  called.  Ermile 
had  rejoined  him. 

"  It  was  kind  of  you,  Ermile,"  said  the 
unhappy  boy  to  him,  "  not  to  have  told  me 
that  you  had  warned  me  two  or  three  times." 

"  That  would  have  done  no  good,"  said  the 
reasonable  Ermile. 

"  I  have  no  chance,"  exclaimed  Kola. 
"  Another  day  mamma  would  have  laughed. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  that  conceited  fellow 
who  was  there,  with  his  offer  of  marriage." 

"  Of  marriage?"  repeated  Ermile,  troubled. 

"  Yes ;  Vera  saw  it,  and  she  was  right. 
You  understand  that  bringing  in  a  bear,  in 
the    midst   of    an    offer    of    marriage,  was    a 


THE  BEARS.  129 

grave  affair.  Vera  will  be  punished  for  a 
week,  at  least." 

While  he  was  tormenting  himself  the  two 
culprits  left  in  the  parlor  —  to  which  Platon 
had  returned  —  explained  all  to  their  mother. 
The  chambermaid  was  sent  away,  after  hav- 
ing been  duly  "  scolded  all  over,"  as  she 
said  later,  for  her  cowardice.  Vera  went  to 
confide  her  misfortunes  to  Mademoiselle  Titof, 
whom  a  headache  had  confined  to  her  room 
all  day. 

Agnes  was  thus  left  alone  with  her  parents, 
and  the  spirit  of  revolt  began  to  rise  in  her 
with  a  violence  that  she  had  not  yet  known. 
Her  mother  said  "  vous "  to  her,  and  this 
little  thing  troubled  her  more  than  all  the 
rest. 

"Your  bad  disposition  shows  itself  even 
to  strangers.  This  man  came  here  to  offer 
you  his  hand,  and  you  act  like  a  school-girl 
on  her  vacation." 

"The  joke   was   innocent,"    replied   Agnes. 


I30  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

"It  was  that  gentleman's  offer  which  spoiled 
it;   but  that  was  not  my  fault." 

There  was  much  truth  in  this  remark,  but 
Dosia  was  angry,  and  it  only  irritated  her  all 
the  more. 

"  He  speaks  to  you  with  regard  and  defer- 
ence, and  you  reply  like  a  badly  behaved 
child." 

"  I  cannot  bear  stiffness,  and  foolish  compli- 
ments, and  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  replied 
Agnes,  defiantly. 

"  My   daughter !  "    said    Dosia,    indignantly. 

Platon  thought  best  to  interfere. 

"  Go  to  your  room,  Agnes,"  said  he. 
"  Think  over  your  conduct  during  the  night, 
and    to-morrow    morning   we   will   talk   of  it." 

As  she  approached  her  parents  for  her 
good-night  kiss  Dosia  turned  away.  Platon 
placed  his  hand  on  his  daughter's  head  with 
a  gentle  sadness,  and  merely  said,  "  Good 
night." 

This   gesture,   which   was    a   caress,    moved 


THE   BEARS.  I3I 

the  young  girl  deeply.  Her  eyes  were  full 
of  tears,  and  if  her  mother  had  only  looked 
at  her  she  would  have  fallen  at  her  knees 
and  asked  her  pardon.  But  Dosia,  much 
displeased,  would  not  turn  her  head,  and 
Agnes  went  out,  feeling  herself  treated  with 
great  injustice. 

In  her  chamber  she  found  Vera,  who  had 
wept  like  a  river,  and  had  dried  her  eyes  by 
means  of  four  pocket-handkerchiefs,  which 
were  soaking  wet.  Seeing  her  sister,  the  child 
precipitated  herself  into  her  arms  with  effusion. 

"  It  is  all  my  fault,  my  dear  sister,  my  good 
Ania." 

Agnes  was  hardened  only  in  appearance. 
She  received  Vera's  caresses  with  a  tenderness 
that  was  delicious  to  the  young  culprit,  because 
it  was  entirely  new,  —  a  tenderness  she  had 
never  known.  After  putting  her  sister  to  bed, 
and  kissing  her  many  times,  Agnes  went  to 
Mademoiselle  Titofs  chamber,  which  adjoined 
that  of  Vera. 


132  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

A  night-lamp  was  burning.  The  poor  gov- 
erness, after  a  day  of  cruel  headache,  had 
suffered  a  rude  shock  in  seeing  her  pupil  come 
to  her  in  tears. 

"  Well,"  said  she  to  Agnes,  raising  herself 
on  her  elbow  with  difficulty,  "  how  has  it 
gone  with  you  ?  " 

"Very  badly;  I  am  in  the  most  complete 
disgrace." 

"Bless  me!     How  is  that?" 

"  Because  that  fool  Semenof  has  got  into 
his  head  to  offer  his  precious  self  to  me,  and 
I  have  sent  him  flying." 

"You  have  done  that !  " 

"  Exactly  I  I  should  like  to  know  if  I  am 
obliged  to  marry  against  my  will." 

"  But,  my  dear,  no  one  asks  you  to  do 
that." 

Agnes  took  up  a  paper  which  was  lying 
under  her  hand,  and  began  to  twist  it  nervously 
between  her  fingers.  "  I  don't  know  what  is 
wanted  of  me,  but  I  know  I  have  been  treated 


THE  BEARS.  1 33 

as  if  I  had  committed  some  crime,  and  I  have 
not  deserved  it." 

The  paper  crunched  in  her  fingers  as  if  it 
had  been  Semenofs  joints. 

"  Please  drop  that  paper,  Agnes  darling," 
said  Mademoiselle  Titof,  quietly;  "it  is  my 
passport  which  has  just  been  brought,  ready 
for  my  journey  to  Moscow.  I  ought  to  go 
next  week,  but  if  you  are  so  unhappy  it  would 
be  better  for  me  to  defer  my  journey.  I  could 
not  enjoy  any  pleasure  while  you  are  in  dis- 
grace." 

Agnes  had  replaced  the  paper  on  the  table. 
"Well,"  said  she,  throwing  back  her  head, 
"  it  shall  be  as  my  mother  wishes.  But  I  have 
not  done  wrong.  If  my  parents  do  not  think 
that  I  consider  the  offer  of  that  ridiculous 
creature,  Semenof,  as  an  insult,  they  do  not 
know  me." 

"  But,  my  child, "  said  Mademoiselle  TitofJ 
"  they  never  had  the  thought  of  accepting  him, 
I  am  sure." 


134  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER, 

"Well,  then!" 

"  But  it  is  no  reason  for  being  disagreeable 
to  him,     A  little  diplomacy  should  be  used." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  am  not  a  diplomat !  "  said  Agnes, 
with  a  haughty  air.  "  Good-night,  my  dear 
friend.  I  ask  your  pardon  for  making  your 
headache  worse." 

She  went  away  without  being  softened,  and 
all  through  the  night  she  repeated  to  herself, 
"  But  I  have  done  no  wrong ;  no,  I  have  done 
no  wrong." 


son  ROWS. 


135 


CHAPTER  V. 

SORROWS. 

'  I  ^HE  next  morning  all  faces  were  full  of 
-*-  care,  and  all  hearts  were  heavy.  Agnes's 
attitude  was  not  such  as  to  disarm  her  mother's 
resentment,  for  she  had  never  been  more 
haughty.  The  day  itself  seemed  made  to 
depress  one's  spirits.  A  curtain  of  whitish 
rain  separated  the  house  from  the  rest  of  the 
world.  On  the  hill,  opposite  the  veranda,  only 
a  confused  mass  of  forest  could  be  seen,  and 
there  the  outlook  ended. 

In  such  circumstances  people  are  either  very 
happy  to  be  together  and  morally  close  to  each 
other,  or  else  this  forced  nearness  becomes 
intolerable;     and  here  the  latter  was  the  case. 

Mademoiselle  Titof,  while  feeling  much  better, 
was  not  yet  able  to  take  part  in  the  life  about 
her.     Vera,  seated  at  the  study  table,  worked 


136  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

hard  at  some  lessons  in  which  she  was  behind- 
hand. She  bent  so  low  over  her  copy-book 
that  her  braids  fell  on  it  from  time  to  time,  and 
made  there  some  transparent  clouds  in  fresh 
ink,  to  the  great  detriment  of  the  text. 

Ermile  and  Nicolas  worked  in  their  room 
with  that  industry  which  follows  disagreeable 
experiences,  when  one  feels  that  he  has  before 
him  the  task  of  bringing  himself  to  pardon  his 
own  fault. 

The  whole  day  passed  thus,  broken  only  by 
the  gloomy  meals,  when  no  one  spoke  except 
for  the  sake  of  form.  Dosia  felt  that  she  had 
been  somewhat  hard  the  evening  before,  but  she 
could  not  take  back  what  she  had  said.  Platon 
waited,  with  sad  heart,  for  the  change  in  his 
daughter's  feeling  which  would  allow  him  to 
speak  to  her  the  firm  and  affectionate  words 
which  he  could  always  command  under  trouble- 
some circumstances.  But  he  understood  Agnes, 
and  he  knew  that,  at  present,  any  attempt  of 
his    to    make    her    see    her   faults   would    be 


SORROWS.  137 

useless,  and  perhaps  perilous  to  his  paternal 
authority. 

Twilight  fell,  —  a  rainy  autumn  twilight,  which 
seemed  to  pour  down  upon  the  earth  all  the 
sadness  which  had  been  hoarded  up  during  the 
radiant  summer  days.  Agnes  went  into  a  long 
glazed  gallery,  the  place  least  frequented  in 
all  the  house,  which  made  a  passage  to  some 
rooms  usually  uninhabited.  The  feeble,  gray 
light  from  without  was  penetrating  it  as  much 
as  possible,  giving  a  confused  appearance  to  the 
few  objects  it  contained,  —  extra  chairs  and 
tables  for  the  garden,  pots  of  unthrifty  plants, 
and  out-of-door  games,  placed  there  on  account 
of  the  rain. 

It  was  always  a  bare  and  desolate  place,  but 
more  desolate  than  ever  in  the  dull,  faint  light 
which  filled  the  gallery  itself  with  the  sensation 
of  the  rain  without.  Sad  as  it  was,  Agnes 
found  it  in  perfect  harmony  with  her  state  of 
mind.  Following  a  custom,  very  general  in 
Russia,  she  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  gal- 


138  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

lery,  from  one  end  to  the  other,  shaking  up  her 
ideas  and  her  blood,  for  she  felt  herself  be- 
numbed by  the  inactivity  of  this  long,  tiresome 
day. 

Little  by  little  a  tenderness  came  into  her 
thoughts;  her  cold  and  haughty  anger  gave 
way  to  a  sudden  compassion   for  herself- 

"  I  am  most  unhappy,"  said  she,  while  her 
eyes,  that  were  fixed  upon  the  fog  without, 
filled  with  hot  tears.  "  Everything  that  I  do 
goes  wrong !  I  cannot  think  or  act  like  other 
people.  It  looks  as  if  some  evil  fate  pur- 
sued me  and  inspired  disapprobation  of  me 
in  all  those  whom  I  love.  O  mother!  if 
you  but  knew  how  much  I  love  you  !  If  you 
would  only  know  and  understand  me !  " 

The  tears  rolled  down  her  burning  cheeks, 
and  she  did  not  think  to  wipe  them  away ;  she 
found  a  deep  comfort  in  feeling  herself  un- 
happy, and  in  piercing  her  own  heart  with  the 
sting  of  this  pain. 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  be  run  in  the  common- 


SORROiVS.  139 

place  mould  for  being  loved  ? "  thought  she. 
"  Will  nothing  that  is  above  vulgarity  find  favor 
with  good,  and  even  intelligent  people?  They 
punish  me  for  refusing  the  addresses  of  a  fool, 
and  this  fool  succeeds  in  making  his  presence 
and  his  conversation  agreeable  to  my  father  and 
mother,  who  are  so  much  above  the  ordinary. 
Must  one  be  like  him  in  order  to  succeed? 
O  mother !  you  have  found  my  father  to 
love  and  lead  you ;  but  I,  shall  I  not  find  a 
guide  and  friend  who  will  bring  joy  to  my 
heart?" 

An  intruding  shadow  appeared  at  the  end 
of  the  gallery ;  the  darkness  came  on  so  rap- 
idly that  it  could  scarcely  be  seen.  The  figure 
remained  immovable  until  Agnes  came  near 
enough  to  recognize  it. 

"  Ermile  ! "  said  she,  in  a  sweet,  tearful  voice. 
In  her  mental  distress  the  help  of  a  truly 
compassionate  soul  was  welcome. 

He  came  quickly  to  her.  "  I  trouble  you," 
said  he,  timidly. 


140  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

"  No,  you  may  stay,"  replied  Agnes. 

He  walked  silently  beside  her.  She  had 
relaxed  the  rapidity  of  her  gait  and  her  step 
was  now  uncertain  and  weary. 

"  You  suffer,"  began  he,  in  a  low  tone,  "  and 
I  do  not  know  what  I  would  not  have  given 
to  prevent  this   deplorable  joke." 

"  It  was  I  who  caused  it,"  answered  she ; 
"besides  that,  what  does  it  matter  now?" 

"  If  you  knew,"  continued  he,  "  how  I  have 
suffered  all  day  !     I  felt  that  you  were  so  sad." 

"  Ah,  you  do  not  know  how  they  talked  to 
me !  I  am  not  sure  that  my  mother  loves  me, 
even ! "  A  stifled  sob  made  the  young  girl 
tremble. 

"  Your  mother !  O  dear  Agnes,  you  know 
not  with  what  a  deep  love !  But  she  looks 
at  things  with  a  different  eye  from  yours.  At 
her  age  this  is  natural."' 

"  And  at  mine  it  is  also  very  natural  to  think 
otherwise,"  responded  Agnes,  with  returning 
pride. 


son  ROWS.  141 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  good  Ermile ;  "  but 
why  question  this  now?  What  we  should  do 
is  to  mend  things." 

"  An  idle  fancy,"  said  she,  bitterly.  "  The 
trouble  is  old,  Ermile;  it  is  a  mistake  older 
than  myself.  I  have  reflected  much  upon 
this  for  several  days,  and  I  have  learned 
the  meaning  of  some  things  which  seemed 
incomprehensible  to  me.  You  see,  my  mother, 
who  was  what  is  called  an  enfant  terrible,  fears 
nothing  so  much  as  seeing  us  like  herself 
She  wished  her  children  to  be  like  my  father; 
that  is  why  she  loves  Nicolas  much  more 
than  us.  She  does  not  know  that  she  is 
partial  to  him ;  but  it  is  easy  to  see  it.  She 
is  almost  afraid  of  me,  Ermile,  because  I  am 
hard  to  manage." 

She  took  some  steps  in  silence. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  difficult  to  manage  ! "  continued 
she,  with  repressed  violence.  "  I  avow  it  to  you 
without  shame ;  but  I  also  know  how  much  good 
there   is  in    me,  all    stifled  in    my   soul.      You 


142  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

think  me  bcKind  by  customs,  by  exterior 
things.  I  look  pedantic.  You,  —  have  you 
never  understood  that  I  impose  this  restraint 
upon  myself  in  order  that  there  may  be  a 
restraint?  That  I  create  fictitious  barriers  for 
myself  because  I  am  afraid  that  I  should  over- 
step the  true  barriers  if  I  allowed  myself  from 
the  first  to  act  upon  my  own  ideas  and  im- 
pulses ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  have  thought  that  more  than  once," 
replied  he ;  "  otherwise  you  would  not  be  con- 
sistent with  yourself" 

"  Do  you  think  that  a  young  girl,  rich, 
brought  up  in  the  paternal  home,  has  had  no 
merit  in  distrusting  herself?  Is  it  not  some- 
thing to  have  struggled,  even  with  an  imaginary 
evil?  To  have  willingly  imposed  laws  upon 
herself,  if  they  be  only  those  of  the  exterior? 
Does  it  not  show  a  power  which  should  some- 
times be  acknowledged  ?  " 

"  That  is  it,  dear  Agnes.  You  wish  to  be 
looked  at  as  being  some  one ;   and  parents,  in 


SORROWS.  143 

general,  will  not  do  that  with  their  children. 
You  are  independent  only  of  your  years  and 
your   discretion,   but   not   by  marriage "  — 

"  Marriage  is  merely  changing  masters." 

"  Not  always,"  replied  the  young  man,  in  a 
singularly  grave  tone.  "  Some  are  reasonable 
enough  to  treat  their  wives  as  friends,  as 
peers,   when   they   are   worthy  of  it." 

Agnes  made  a  disdainful  gesture  with  her 
hand. 

"  I  wish  to  employ  my  best  powers,  while  I 
have  them,  to  do  something,  —  some  work,  in 
short,  for  others,  —  not  for  myself." 

•'  Work  is  not  wanting  in  Russia.  There  is 
everything  to  do.  I  know  a  young  man  with 
small  fortune,  who  was  about  to  begin  the 
practice  of  law,  and  had  the  prospect  of  a 
brilliant  career  in  his  native  town,  when  he 
heard  that  a  teacher  could  not  be  found  for 
a  village,  situated  far  away  in  the  marshes  — 
Can  you  understand  that  primary  teachers 
might  be  needed?" 


144  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  Ah,  well !  "  exclaimed  Agnes,  impatiently, 
"  your  friend  ?  " 

"  He  left  his  clients  and  went  to  the  marsh. 
He  teaches  reading  and  writing  to  peasant  chil- 
dren, —  at  least  if  he  has  not  died  of  fever." 

Agnes  clasped  her  hands  tightly  together. 
"  How  beautiful  that  is  !  "  said  she.  "  That  is 
the  kind  of  people  to  be  loved !  But  I, 
useless  as  I  am  !  Not  even  able  to  earn  my 
own  bread  "  — 

"  You  don't  know,"  said  Ermile,  smiling ;  "  I 
think  you  might  make    a  very  good   teacher." 

She  smiled  faintly. 

"  And  you,"  said  she,  turning  suddenly  to 
her  friend,  —  "  what  do  you  wish  to  do?  " 

"  I  will  teach  our  peasants  not  to  lose  their 
labor  and  their  harvests  through  ignorance,  or 
negligence,  or  stupidity;  that  is  all  that  I  can 
do.  I  am  not  a  hero,"  added  he,  humbly.  "  I 
do  not  feel  equal  to  heroic  deeds.  I  should 
know  how  to  die  for  my  duty,  but  I  cannot 
invent  fictitious    ones." 


SORROWS.  145 

"  Fictitious !  Are  there  then  fictitious  du- 
ties?" 

"  I  think  so,"  replied  he,  with  humble  gen- 
tleness. 

"To  keep  your  word,  —  is  that  a  fictitious 
duty?" 

"  Certainly  not ;  but  to  swear  to  one's  self  to 
do  impossible  things  is,  perhaps,  a  fictitious 
duty.  I  do  not  know.  I  am  an  honest  man, 
Agnes,   but   I   am   not   a   knight" 

"  I  saw  you  at  the  fire." 

"  Oh,  that  1  — that  was  natural  enough.  What 
I  mean  to  say  is,  that  I  am  wanting  in  poetry, 
in  imagination;  perhaps  —  I  am  simple,  too 
simple." 

It  seemed  as  if  he  begged  pardon  for  his 
simplicity.  She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  a 
little  puzzled,  disposed  to  take  what  he  said  as 
a  reality,  feeling  at  the  same  time,  confusedly, 
that  this  extreme  modesty  was  in  itself  an 
indication   of  uncommon   merit. 

"  When  one  has  given  his  word  he  must  keep 


146  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

it,"  said  she,  with  that  slightly  haughty  decision 
which  was  natural  to  her.  "  I  do  not  know 
whether  it  is  a  fictitious  or  a  real  duty,  but  it  is 
the  duty  of  an  honest  man.  I  won't  yield  that 
point." 

He  bowed  his  head,  submissive,  but  not  con- 
vinced. Something  within  him  protested,  and 
he  would  have  liked  to  explain,  to  justify 
himself,  perhaps;  but  after  Agnes's  formal 
declaration  he  did  not  know  how. 

"  But,  after  all,"  said  she,  sighing,  "  these  are 
theories ;  the  thing  is  to  overcome  practical 
difficulties." 

He  longed  to  tell  her  that  her  theories 
made  a  large  part  of  the  practical  difficulties 
of  which  she  complained ;  but  he  could  not,  he 
dared  not,  so  much  did  he  fear  to  displease  her. 
She  suffered,  but  he  suffered  a  hundred  times 
more  than  she,  not  being  able  to  offer  her  the 
only  true  remedy  for  all  mental  grief,  —  a  com- 
plete tenderness,  an  entire  abandonment  of 
himself — forgetfulness,  abnegation,    in  a  word. 


SORROWS.  147 

And  she  imprudently  had  robbed  herself  of 
the  consolation  of  hearing,  even  as  she  denied 
him  the  joy  of  speaking  it. 

"  Ermile,"  said  she,  suddenly,  "  this  house 
depresses  me.  I  have  offended  everybody, 
and  I  do  not  feel  myself  among  friends." 

Ungrateful  child  !  Ungrateful  friend  !  But 
could  he  tell  her  so? 

"  I  suffer  cruelly  here.  I  wish  to  go  very  far 
away,  —  so  far,  that  nothing  of  the  past  would 
return  to  my  memory." 

"Nothing?  Ever?"  demanded  Ermile,  in  a 
broken  voice. 

"  Ever  ?  Oh,  I  don't  know  !  Perhaps  by  and 
by.  Now,  everything,  wounds  and  saddens 
me." 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  a  sorrowful 
gesture. 

"  I  am  eighteen  years  old,  in  the  spring  of 
my  life,  and  I  am  absolutely  miserable.  There, 
Ermile,  leave  me ;  I  had  better  be  alone." 

He  came  nearer  to  her  instead  of  obeying. 


148  DO  SI  A' S   DAUGHTER. 

"You  are  unhappy;  yes,  dear  Agnes,  very 
unhappy,  but,  if  you  pleased,  you  could  be 
otherwise." 

"  I  know  —  act  like  others,  and  be  like 
every  one  else,"  said  she,  with  an  expression 
of  bitter  sarcasm. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  courageously.  "  You  can 
never  bring  yourself  down  to  a  common  level, 
but  you  ought  to  accept  general  laws  and 
common  duties." 

"And  clip  my  wings?" 

"  Yes ;  since  your  wings  make  you  fly  cross- 
wise !  " 

Amazed  at  his  audacity,  she  stopped  and 
looked  at  him  with  as  much  curiosity  as  anger. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Agnes.  I  love  you  more 
than  it  is  possible  to  express.  I  would  give 
my  life  to  dry  your  tears,  but  I  see  you 
wilfully  blinding  yourself,  and  it  is  my  duty 
to  tell  you  so.  Your  father  and  mother  adore 
you,  and  wish  only  for  your  happiness ;  you 
voluntarily    misjudge   them.      At   the    bottom 


SORROWS.  149 

of  your  heart  you  feel  the  truth  of  my  words, 
and  your  pride  keeps  you  from  acknowledging 
it.  You  enjoy  acting  the  part  of  an  unappre- 
ciated person,  because  if  you  should  give  it 
up  you  would  be  obliged  to  be  submissive  to 
the  laws,  which  at  present  you  only  denounce. 
I  offend  you,  Agnes ;  I  know  it,  and  yet  I 
never  loved  you  better.  Perhaps  you  will 
never  forgive  me,  and  I  stake  my  happiness 
in  order  to  give  you  this  supreme  warning. 
It  is  time  for  you  to  renounce  your  fancies: 
be  simple  and  good,  as  you  know  how  to  be, 
£is  you  were  that  day  at  the  fire  in  the  forest, 
when  you  saved  that  little  child." 

She  said  nothing;  he  went  on  vehemently, 
but  in  smothered  accents :  — 

"  Agnes,  my  well-beloved !  if  this  house 
oppresses  you,  mine  awaits  you.  We  have 
the  same  ardent  desires  to  serve  our  time  and 
our  country.  Your  firmness  will  compensate 
for  my  indecision,  and  we  could  lead  a  life 
suited    to    Paradise.      And    then,    I    love   you, 


150  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

Agnes  —  I  love  you,  and  see  only  you  in  the 
whole  universe.  Let  us  go  to  your  parents,  tell 
them  that  you  consent  to  marry  me,  and  all 
this  sadness  will  turn  into  joy." 

He  had  taken  both  her  hands  and  regarded 
her  with  a  deep  expression  of  devotion. 

She  almost  said  yes.  She  knew  that  he  was 
so  good,  so  noble,  so  true,  and  within  herself 
she  felt  the  growth  of  a  delicious  emotion. 
She  knew  that,  sustained  by  those  strong  hands, 
she  could  pass  through  life  above  dangers  and 
petty  cares ;  her  soul  was  melting  for  tears 
and  tenderness ;  she  already  was  bending 
towards  him,  ready  to  rest  her  head  on  this 
generous  bosom.  Suddenly  her  terrible  pride 
asserted  itself;  she  snatched  her  trembling 
hands  away  from  those  of  Ermile  and  drew 
herself  back. 

"  You  had  sworn  not  to  speak  to  me  of 
these  things,"  said  she,  angrily ;  "  you  have 
broken  your  oath," 

He  started    back.     In  this  moment  he   had 


SORROWS. 


151 


forgotten  the  oath  extorted  from  his  weak- 
ness 

"  I  forbid  you  to  see  me  again,  —  do  you 
hear?"  said  Agnes,  who  struggled  not  only 
with  her  pride,  but  also  with  the  new  senti- 
ment which  had  seized  her. 

He  looked  straight  in  her  face.  "  You  are 
doing  wrong,  Agnes,"  said  he,  pale  with 
emotion. 

"  I  deny  your  right  to  judge  me,"  replied 
she. 

"  You  cannot  take  that  right  away." 

"  I  can  ignore  it  in  banishing  you  from  my 
presence.  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you  again ;  I 
repeat  it;  and  if  you  do  not  find  a  pretext  for 
leaving  this  house  I  will  go  away  myself." 

He  bowed  low  to  her. 

"I  can  only  obey,"  said  he.  "Yours  is  a 
cruel  act,  wicked,  dangerous ;  you  will  repent 
it."      . 

"What!  — threats?" 

"No,  grief.     Adieu,  Agnes!" 


152  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

"Adieu!" 

He  left  the  gallery.  It  was  now  really  dark, 
and  nothing  could  be  seen  without,  except  the 
thick  fog,  which  seemed  to  stick  to  the  window 
like  a  sheet  of  tissue-paper.  Agnes  ran  to  her 
room  and  threw  herself  on  her  bed. 

"  I  do  not  want,  I  do  not  want  to  love  him  !  " 
repeated  she  to  herself  with  an  inexpressible 
anger.  "  Love  this  man  who  ridicules  me  — 
blames  me !  Foolish  and  cowardly  heart,  I 
shall  know  how  to  bring  you  to  reason.  It 
would  be  a  fine  thing  if  I  could  not  prevent 
myself  from  loving  him  when  I  will  it.  Where 
there    is  a  will  there  is  a  way." 

In  spite  of  this  bold  statement  of  prin- 
ciples the  unhappy  girl  wept  bitterly  far  into 
the  night.  A  real  grief  had  added  itself  to 
her  fancied  sorrows.  She  loved  Ermile,  and 
she    had  sent  him  away  forever. 

She  was  not  one  of  those  coquettes  who 
refuse  in  order  to  attract.  It  was  entirely  in 
good    faith  that  she   had   banished    the  young 


SORROIVS.  153 

man.  She  thought  she  had  done  an  heroic 
act.  Curtius  had  leaped  into  the  gulf.  Scce- 
vola  had  put  his  hand  into  the  fire.  Why 
should  not  Agnes  Sourof  tear  her  heart  out 
by  the   roots? 


154  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

ALONE. 

^  I  ^HE  next  day  was  fine,  and  Platon  an- 
nounced  that  all  the  family  would  dine 
with  General  Baranine,  as  he  had  promised  the 
other  evening.  The  foliage  of  the  trees,  still 
wet  from  the  rain  of  the  day  before,  had  grown 
yellow  very  rapidly,  giving  to  the  landscape  a 
rich,  yet  melancholy  color.  However,  a  bright 
sunshine  soon  lighted  the  park  and  the  woods 
and  made  them  merry,  at  least  for  the  young, 
who  think  not  of  to-morrows  nor  yesterdays. 
Platon  knew  life  better  than  that ;  after  taking 
his  cup  of  tea  he  went  out  on  the  terrace. 
"  Autumn  already,"  said  he ;  **  winter  soon, 
and  another  year  will  have  fallen  into  the 
abyss." 

The  flowers  of  the  garden  were  shining  with 
an    incomparable  brightness.     There  is  a  mo- 


ALONE.  155 

ment  in  the  year  when  summer  mingles  itself 
with  autumn ;  when  the  colors  and  per- 
fumes of  those  mute  friends  seem  to  try  to 
give  us  all  possible  joy  before  their  approach- 
ing death :  the  grass  is  greener  than  ever ; 
the  reds,  the  purples,  and  the  intense  yellows 
glitter  in  the  gardens  like  little  fireworks, 
almost  hurting  the  eyes  by  their  intensity. 
A  frost  comes,  and  all  this  gaudy  pomp 
falls,  mowed  down  upon  the  turf  and  sud- 
denly  faded. 

"Agnes,"  said  Platon,  seeing  his  daughter 
crossing  the  garden  at  a  little  distance  off. 

She  approached  him  silently. 

"  Listen  to  me,  my  child,"  said  he  to  her. 
"  Your  mother  is  in  her  room ;  go  to  her  and 
tell  her  in  a  few  words  that  you  regret  your 
conduct,  and  we  shall  be  quiet  hereafter." 

Agnes  looked  at  her  father  again  and  again. 
She  wanted  to  tell  him  something,  but  she  did 
not  dare. 

"  What  do  you  wish?  "  said  he,  kindly. 


156  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,  my  father,  that  if  it 
were  you  I  should  be  sure  of  finding  the 
words  which  would  touch  your  heart;  with 
my  mother  I  fear  that  I  shall  not  succeed." 

Platon  sighed.  "  But  you  ought  to  express 
your  regret." 

Agnes  remained  silent.  "  Come  now,"  said 
Platon,  in  a  slightly  irritated  tone,  "  you  do  feel 
regret,  I  think  ?  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  her  father's  and  re- 
plied, "  I  am  in  despair  at  having  given  you 
pain,  my  father." 

"  Oh,  well,  go  and  say  the  same  thing  to 
your  mother,  my  child !  she  asks  no  more 
than  that." 

Agnes  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  decided 
to  go  on.  "  It  is  not  the  same  thing,  my 
father;  my  mother  has  treated  me  differently 
from  you.  I  do  not  mean  that  I  am  not  sorry," 
began  she  quickly,  seeing  her  father's  face 
grow  sad ;  "  but  it  would  be  impossible  for  me 
to  express  to  her,  without  falsehood,  the  senti- 


ALONE.  157 

ments  which  I  have  declared  to  you, —  to  you 
—  my  dearly  loved  father,"  added  she,  in  a 
low  tone. 

Platon  looked  very  anxious.  Evidently 
Dosia  had  deeply  wounded  the  self-love  of  her 
daughter,  and  the  wound  was  not  one  which 
would  heal  readily. 

"  Will  you  not  do  it  for  my  sake  ?  "  asked 
he,  hoping  to  touch  the  heart  of  the  child 
whom  he  loved  so  tenderly. 

"  O  my  father !  there  is  nothing  I  would 
not  do  for  you,"  murmured  Agnes,  raising  his 
hand  to  her  lips. 

She  was  vanquished ;  the  tears  which  fell 
from  her  eyes,  heavy  and  fast,  like  the  rain 
of  a  tempest,  proved  that  her  proud  coldness 
had  come  to  an  end. 

Platon  kissed  the  pure  brow  which  was 
offered  for  his  caress. 

"  Go  at  once,"  said  he  to  his  daughter ; 
"  your  mother  has  waited  only  too  long." 

Passing  his  arm  about  Agnes's  elegant  waist 


158  DOS/A 'S   DAUGHTER. 

he  led  her  towards  the  chamber  where  Dosia 
was  completing  her  toilet    before  going  away. 

"  Dosia,"  said  he,  "  here  is  our  daughter, 
who  comes  to  speak   with  you." 

He  discreetly  closed  the  door,  and  returned 
to  the  veranda,  where  he  remained  in  deep 
thought,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  golden  tops  of 
the  woods,  which  awoke  so  vividly  in  him  the 
thought  of  the  decline  of  life. 

The  best  strategist  may  make  a  mistake,  and 
this  Platon  did  when  he  left  his  daughter  alone 
with  her  mother  without  being  sure  of  the  sen- 
timents of  the  latter.  It  happened  that  Dosia, 
after  having  reflected  upon  her  anger  of  the 
other  evening,  said  to  herself  that  her  forbear- 
ance had  lasted  long  enough,  and  that  hence- 
forth she  ought  to  employ  all  her  severity  to 
lead  back  to  her  duty  the  child  who  had  ap- 
peared to  forget  it. 

The  old  demon  was  not  entirely  dead  in 
Dosia's  heart,  —  that  old  demon  which  had  for- 
merly led  her  into  so  many  follies.     Age  had 


ALONE.  1 59 

not  entirely  corrected  her  undisciplined  char- 
acter, and,  at  times,  she  felt  herself  still  capable 
of  a  struggle  with  human  nature  in  order  to  es- 
tablish her  own  will.  In  such  a  state  of  mind 
the  conduct  of  Agnes  could  not  bring  the 
change  for  which  Platon  hoped.  The  young 
girl  understood  this  from  the  sound  of  her 
mother's  voice,  and  all  her  pride  rose  up  again, 
—  so  much  the  more  that  her  effort  to  conquer 
it  had  been  most  difficult. 

"Well?"  said  Dosia. 

She  was  standing  before  her  long  mirror, 
putting  on  her  gloves,  ready  to  go  out. 

The  tone  was  not  very  encouraging;  how- 
ever, Agnes  thought  that,  after  the  way  in  which 
her  father  had  spoken  to  her,  she  ought  to 
conquer  herself  once  more,  and  give  her  mother 
the  tribute  of  submission  which  was  demanded. 
But  Agnes  was  sincerity  itself,  and  she  could 
scarcely  speak  words  which  were  not  in  full 
accord  with  the  state  of  her  mind. 

"  Mamma,"  said  she,    hesitatingly,  •'  I  fear  I 


l6o  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

have  displeased  you,  and  I  wish  that  you  would 
not  be  angry  with  me." 

Dosia's  whole  nature  revolted  against  this  act 
of  imperfect  submission. 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  to  me? "  said 
she,  haughtily. 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  said  Agnes,  looking  at  her 
fearlessly. 

"Then  you  can  go  away.  You  will  make 
proper  excuses  to  me  for  your  impertinence, 
or  you  will  never  appear  before  me." 

Madame  Sourof  certainly  went  beyond  her 
intention  in  passing  this  sentence  of  banishment, 
but  she  did  not  easily  master  herself,  and  her 
autocratic  ways  were  now  so  much  more  pro- 
nounced that  in  her  youth  she  had  wilfully 
escaped  from  all  control.  A  French  proverb 
illustrates  this  curious  fact  by  an  eloquent, 
though  vulgar,  figure,  "  When  the  devil  is 
old  he  becomes  a  saint." 

"  Then,  mamma,"  said  Agnes,  "  shall  I  not 
go  with  you  to  General  Baranine's?" 


ALONE.  l6l 

"  It  will  be  much  better  for  you  to  remain 
here.  You  can  better  reflect  upon  your  faults ; 
and  perhaps  your  reason  will  return  to  you." 

Agnes  bowed  to  her  mother,  and  went 
towards  the  door;  at  the  moment  she  turned 
the  handle  Dosia  was  tempted  to  recall  her.  A 
gesture,  ever  so  formal  and  wanting  in  kindness, 
would  have  sufficed  to  throw  the  undisciplined 
child  into  her  mother's  arms ;  but  the  two  were 
equally  proud,  and  the  gesture  was  withheld. 
The  young  girl  returned  to  her  father,  who 
looked  at  her  in  amazement,  seeing  her  so 
pale. 

"  Mamma  has  commanded  me  to  remain 
here,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice.  "You  will 
go  to  the  general's  without  me." 

"You  have  then  offended  her  again,"  said 
Platon,  sadly. 

"  I  have  not  intended  it,  I  assure  you, 
papa,"  replied  Agnes;  "  but  I  beheve  that 
my  mother  is  too  angry  with  me  to  be  satis- 
fied with  what  I  said." 


1 62-  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

They  heard  the  horses  stamp  and  shake 
their  harnesses.  Platon  rose  and  placed  his 
hand  on  Agnes's  head  with  his  affectionate 
and  familiar  gesture.  "  My  child,"  said  he, 
"this  is  life;  one  must  learn  to  submit  — 
even  when  the  punishment  seems  to  us  dis- 
proportionate to  the  fault."' 

"  The  carriages  are  here,"  said  the  servant. 

"  Stay,  my  daughter,"  continued  Platon. 
"  Solitude  is  sometimes  a  good  counsellor. 
Be  not  sad,  but  think  about  it.  On  coming 
back  your  mother  will  certainly  be  in  another 
disposition." 

Vera  ran  out  ready  to  go.  "  Well,  you 
are  not  dressed.  Are  you  not  going?"  said 
she  to  her  sister. 

Agnes  bent  towards  her  and  kissed  her 
with  more  eff"usion  than  usual.  The  child 
was  more  dear  to  her  since  she  knew  her 
to  be  the  original  and  the  involuntary  cause 
of  her  disgrace. 

"  No,"  said  she ;   "  I  remain  here." 


ALONE.  163 

Ermile  and  Nicolas  also  appeared,  followed 
by  Mademoiselle  Titof.  The  same  exclama- 
tions from  them  irritated  the  wounded  self- 
love  of  Agnes. 

"  No,"  replied  she  to  their  questions ;  "  I 
am  not  going.  I  am  in  disgrace,  if  you 
wish  to  know." 

This  declaration  was  received  with  incredu- 
lous laughter;  but  the  appearance  of  Madame 
Sourof,  silently  though  visibly  moved,  made 
them  understand  that  something  serious  was 
going  on.  They  all  went  to  the  carriages 
while  Agnes    remained   on   the  terrace. 

Suddenly  Ermile  came  running  back,  as  if 
he  had  forgotten  something. 

"I  beg  you,  Agnes,"  said  he,  hastily,  "give 
me  your  commands;  what  can  I  do  for  you? 
You  are  so  evidently  unhappy !  " 

"  I  demand  no  favor  of  you,"  replied  the 
young  girl,  haughtily.  "  I  have  forbidden  you 
to  appear  before  me.  Do  not  you  see,  that 
between     my    mother's     hardness     and     your 


1 64  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

tenderness,  which  I  discard,  this  house  is  be- 
coming intolerable  to  me?" 

He  went  away  without  adding  another  word. 
She  heard  for  some  time  the  waning  sound  of 
the  bells  on  the  carriages,  which  went  away, 
following  the  ravine ;  and  then  their  light 
tinkling  was  lost  in  the  distance,  and  the 
deep  silence  of  the  woods  surrounded  the 
deserted  house.  Agnes  remained  a  long  time 
in  the  same  place.  Her  hands  joined  listlessly 
before  her  she  looked  at  the  hill  without 
seeing  it.  The  whole  world  of  childish 
memories,  of  little,  forgotten  bitternesses,  of 
stifled  rancors,  of  unreasonable  angers,  —  all 
the  fire  that  slumbers  within  us  rose  slowly 
to  the  surface,  following  the  current  of  her 
thought. 

In  this  twilight  hour,  in  her  happy  home, 
no  images  arose  in  her  mind  which  could 
soften  or  cheer  her.  Naturally  sensitive  and 
melancholy,  in  spite  of  her  flashes  of  youthful 
gayety,   she    found    a  bitter  joy  in  calling  up 


ALONE.  165 

the  sorrows  of  a  stormy  childhood.  She  had 
always  been  misunderstood.  Her  father  alone 
had  known  her,  and  Agnes  was  too  clever 
not  to  see  how  wise  he  was  not  to  take 
her  part  when  her  mother  reprimanded  her. 
The  young  girl  had  a  high  conception  of 
duty.  She  knew  that  if  her  mother  blamed 
her,  her  father  could  not  but  disapprove  of 
his  child.  How  cruel  of  fate  it  was  that  her 
mother,  so  charming,  and  so  tenderly  loved, 
could  not  endure  in  her  daughter  that  which 
had  formerly  been  so  natural  to  herself!  Tears 
fell  slowly  and  sorrowfully  from  Agnes's  eyes, 
while  she  thus  revived  the  days  of  her  child- 
hood. 

"  I  have  always  been  unhappy,"  said  she  to 
herself;  "  and  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  I  ought 
to  have  been  happy." 

The  day  faded ;  a  light,  transparent  mist 
ascended  from  the  valley,  enveloping  the  alders 
like  a  bridal  veil.  So  a  deep  melancholy  was 
rising  up  in  the  heart  of  the  afflicted  girl,  while 


1 66  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

at  the  same  time  an  emotion  of  sweet  sadness 
crept  over  her  soul  —  less  hardened  than  she 
believed  it  to  be. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  my  fault,"  thought  Agnes,  in 
profound  discouragement.  "  Others  would  be 
happy  in  my  place.  I  have  a  contrary  dispo- 
sition. My  father  loves  my  mother  so  much ! 
How  could  he  love  her  thus  if  she  were  not 
good  and  noble?  It  is  I  who  do  not  know  how 
to  appreciate  her.  And  I  am  condemned  to 
pass  here  my  days,  months,  and  years,  without 
knowing  the  hearts  of  those  whom  I  love,  or 
making  myself  known  by  them.  My  life  will 
flow  on,  useless  and  frivolous,  while  I  ought  to 
employ  it  to  do  some  good." 

A  chill  came  over  her  and  she  entered  the 
house.  Soon  after  the  maid  came  to  say 
that  her  dinner  was  served.  She  went  into 
the  dining-room  and  ate  scarcely  anything; 
she  swallowed  down  a  glass  of  cold  water,  and 
said  she  would  have  her  cup  of  tea  in  her  own 
room. 


ALONE.  167 

When  the  young  servant  who  had  brought 
the  tray  had  gone  away,  Agnes  took  a  lamp 
and  went  into  Mademoiselle  Titofs  little  library 
to  look  for  an  interesting  book.  She  felt 
more  and  more,  in  the  depths  of  her  soul, 
a  deep  sorrow,  as  if  it  were  torn  by  some 
ferocious  claws,  and  she  wished  to  escape  from 
her  own  thoughts.  As  she  turned  over  the 
books  that  she  already  knew,  despairing  of 
finding  one  that  would  amuse  her  enough 
to  drive  away  her  sorrow,  her  elbow  knocked 
down  a  folded  paper,  which  opened  as  it  fell. 
She  picked  it  up  and  abstractedly  looked  at  it. 
Mademoiselle  Titofs  passport,  visS,  in  prepara- 
tion for  her  journey,  had  been  left  upon  the 
bureau  by  mistake.  Agnes  read  attentively  the 
half-written,  half-printed  page.  We  cannot  say 
why  it  is  always  interesting  to  read  the  passport 
of  an  acquaintance.  She  looked  at  it  carefully 
from  the  top,  where  the  Russian  coat-of-arms 
was  engraved,  to  the  illegible  signature  of  the 
last  clerk  through  whose  hands  it  had  passed. 


1 68  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

"  One  would  say  that  it  was  made  out  for 
me,"  thought  the  young  girl,  reading  the  de- 
scription of  the  features  of  her  governess.  "  It 
is  strange  that  we  resemble  each  other  so  little, 
and  yet  answer  to  the  same  description  I  Ex- 
cept the  age,  for  I  am  seven  years  younger,  this 
would  serve  me  as  well,  and  then  I  look  older 
than  I  am  "  — 

She  examined  her  fine  face,  changed  by 
the  sadness  which  made  it  suddenly  grow  pale 
in  the  mirror  before  her.  "  And  to  fancy  that 
a  miserable  sheet  of  paper  like  that  makes 
Mademoiselle  Titof  free  to  exercise  her  pro- 
fession, to  do  good,  to  be  independent  — 
How  much  in  so  little !  "  thought  Agnes. 

She  stood  looking  at  the  passport  with  such 
concentration  that  she  seemed  to  ask  of  it  the 
secret  of  her  destiny.  A  little  farther  away,  on 
the  bureau,  was  the  time-table  of  the  Volga 
boats,  intended,  also,  to  be  used  in  the  journey 
of  the  governess.  Agnes  drew  it  towards  her 
and  consulted  it.     Which  boat  would  Madem- 


ALONE.  i6g 

oiselle  Titof  take?  Probably  that  of  the 
following  Saturday,  for  the  next  one  left  this 
sartie  evening,  at  nine  o'clock.  Agnes  looked 
at  her  watch;   it  was  half-past  six. 

Something  was  growing  in  her  mind.  She 
could  not,  or  dared  not,  yet  explain  too  fully 
to  herself  a  project  which  appeared  so  vague, 
and  yet  which  was  already  decided  in  her 
own  mind,  for  everything  converged  towards 
the   same  end. 

She  rang  the  bell  and  her  maid  came  in. 
"Where  is  Mademoiselle  Titofs  trunk?  I  do 
not  see  it  in  its  usual  place." 

"  Her  trunk  has  been  at  the  station  for 
three  days,  miss,"  replied  the  young  servant. 
"  Mademoiselle  Titof  would  have  gone  to-day 
if  she  had  not  been  so  ill  since  the  begin- 
ning of  the  week." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Agnes ;  and  she  was  once 
more  alone  with  the  passport  and  the  fascinat- 
ing time-table.  Suddenly,  with  a  quick  action, 
she   folded   the   two    and   put    them    into    her 


170  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

pocket.  She  then  went  to  her  own  room  and 
opened  her  wardrobe.  A  row  of  garments 
hung  there,  displaying  a  whole  gamut  of  colors. 
She  chose  a  large,  dark  cloak,  which  would 
entirely  conceal  the  simple  gray  woollen  gown 
she  had  worn  that  day.  A  cap  with  feathers, 
round  which  a  veil  was  twisted,  was  in  her 
bandbox,  near  by;  she  put  it  on,  and  then, 
opening  her  writing-desk,  took  out  her  purse 
and  a  small  portfolio.  Many  dear  and  familiar 
objects  were  near  at  hand.  She  scattered  them 
about  with  a  sort  of  anger.  Why  should  they 
be  there,  before  her,  to  speak  of  what  she  most 
wished  to  forget?  Her  jewel-case  caught  her 
eye.  She  pushed  it  away  and  closed  the 
drawer.  A  little  valise,  which  was  ordinarily 
used  for  the  small  objects  necessary  when  they 
passed  a  few  hours  in  the  woods,  happened  to 
be  within  reach.  She  thrust  in  some  linen 
and  indispensable  toilet  articles,  and  then, 
hiding  the  valise  beneath  her  cloak,  she  left  the 
room  furtively,    as    if    she    left  some   remorse 


ALONE.  1 71 

there.  She  entered  her  father's  dressing-room. 
A  sheet  of  white  paper  on  the  bureau  attracted 
her.     She  took  a  pen  and  wrote :  — 

Dear  Parents  :  —  I  go  away.  Have  no  trouble  for 
me.  I  wish  to  try  to  earn  an  honorable  living  by  my 
own  labor.     Do  not  be  angry  with  me,  for  I  love  you. 

Agnes. 

The  house  was  still  and  deserted.  The  ser- 
vants were  dining  in  the  farther  part  of  their 
quarters.  Agnes  passed  through  the  vast 
drawing-room,  usually  lighted  up,  but  dark 
this  evening,  filled  as  ever  with  the  perfume  of 
the  hot-house  flowers  which  adorned  it.  She 
opened  the  door  leading  to  the  veranda  and 
looked  into  the  garden.  The  mist  rose  slowly 
from  the  den.  A  kind  of  soft  white  down 
seemed  to  surround  the  clusters  of  trees  scat- 
tered on  the  hillside,  and  moved  slowly  in 
circles,  changing  in  thickness  and  transparency 
so  gradually  that  the  motion  was  impercep- 
tible.    The  round  white  moon  rose  in  an  opal 


172  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

sky  which  daylight  had  scarcely  left.  Its  rays 
pierced  the  mist  without  taking  away  its 
mystery.  The  silence  was  so  deep  that  a  dry 
leaf  dropping  from  a  tree  upon  the  grass  might 
be  heard.  Only  the  brook  in  the  depths  of  the 
vale  sang  softly  its  little,  monotonous  ditty. 
The  dahlias  and  china-asters  were  as  visible  in 
the  moonlight  as  at  noontime.  Their  rich 
hues,  though  softened,  were  still  to  be  seen 
on  the  grayish  background  of  verdure  in 
the  flower-garden. 

"  How  beautiful  all  this  is  !  "  thought  Agnes. 
Her  soul  seemed  closed  to  every  impression 
except  that  of  the  beauty  of  the  landscape.  A 
strange  moral  indifference  had  seized  her. 
She  ran  down  a  path  which  led  to  an  outlet 
of  the  park,  and  was  closed  by  a  wooden  gate 
with  a  simple  latch.  Her  gloved  hand  raised 
without  hesitation  the  little  iron  bar,  and  the 
gate  closed  behind  her. 

The  road  wound  round  a  little  hill.  The 
diaphanous  shadows  of  the  trees,  already  half 


ALONE.  173 

stripped  of  leaves,  formed  a  delicate  net-work 
shaded  by  the  flying  mist.  The  dampness  was 
scarcely  perceptible.  The  ground  was  almost 
dry  under  her  feet,  and  Agnes  walked  quickly, 
with  a  firm  step.  She  did  not  consider  the  con- 
sequences of  the  action  which  she  carried  out 
so  naturally;  she  did  not  even  think  of  them. 
She  was  not  acting  from  reason,  but  from 
instinct,  and  instinct  almost  savage,  which 
made  her  fly  from  a  house  where,  for  two  days, 
every  thing  had  wounded  her. 

The  steamer  stopped  at  a  little  town  four  cr 
five  kilometers  from  the  Sourof  mansion.  It 
was  a  short  walk,  and  Agnes  had  taken  it  many 
times ;  this  evening  the  way  seemed  long  to 
her.  Occasionally  there  were  very  dark  places 
extending  back  under  the  trees  on  the  road- 
side, and  the  young  girl  peered  into  them 
questioningly,  —  not  that  she  was  afraid ;  but 
she  had  that  insurmountable  feeling  of  pain 
at  the  heart  which  accompanies  extraordinary 
deeds.     Suddenly  she  heard,  at  a  little  distance. 


174  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

in  a  thicket,  the  strong  strokes  of  an  axe 
upon  a  tree.  "  Some  one  robbing  my  father's 
timber,"  thought  she.  Moved  by  her  old  habit 
of  order  she  was  ready  to  turn  back  to  give 
warning,  when  she  stopped  herself.  "  To  what 
good  now,  and  what  matters  one  pine  more 
or  less  ? "  The  essential  point  was  that  she 
should  profit  by  her  newly-acquired  freedom, 
the  novel  sensations  of  which  strongly  agitated 
her. 

A  long  winding  in  the  forest  still  separated 
her  from  the  Volga.  She  heard  the  sound  of 
wheels  near  her  and  was  frozen  by  sudden 
fright.  Had  not  some  one  discovered  her 
flight?  What  would  happen  if  she  should  be 
taken  back  and  be  made  a  prisoner?  Would 
not  the  humiliation  of  such  an  adventure  make 
existence  awful  to  her? 

Ready  to  throw  herself  into  the  thicket  if  she 
were  pursued,  and  assured  that  she  should  not 
be  found  should  she  pass  the  night  there,  she 
listened  attentively. 


ALONE.  175 

The  wheels  sounded  as  if  they  were  before 
and  not  behind  her.  Another  feeling  of  hor- 
ror seized  her.  Might  it  not  be  the  car- 
riages of  her  parents,  returned  too  soon  from 
the  general's  house  ?  Sometimes  they  took  thii^ 
road,  which  was  less  abrupt,  although  longer. 

The  wheels  approached  nearer  and  nearer. 
She  wished  to  hide  in  the  wood,  but  the  roots 
of  the  trees  were  rough,  and  her  shoes  would 
scarcely  protect  her  against  the  brambles.  A 
clear  spot  opened  into  the  forest  at  her  left; 
entering  it,  and,  hiding  behind  a  pine,  she 
listened. 

It  was  a  simple  telegue,  drawn  by  one  horse 
and  driven  by  a  peasant.  Whether  the  solitude 
weighed  on  him,  or  whether  he  was  in  a  poetic 
humor,  he  commenced,  in  a  half-voice,  a  popu- 
lar song  of  a  slow  and  sad  rhythm.  The  still- 
ness of  the  air  allowed  sounds  to  be  carried  a 
long  distance,  for  the  strokes  of  the  axe  were 
heard  distinctly,  although  the  wood-cutter  was 
already  far  away. 


1/6  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

"  I  am  an  orphan,"  said  the  song ;  "  my 
mother  is  dead,  and  no  one  pities  my  misery." 

The  horse  went  slowly,  as  if  lulled  by  the 
sad  melody. 

A  vivid  impression  crossed  Agnes's  mind. 
Was  she  not  an  orphan,  although  her  mother 
still  lived?  More  quickly  and  farther,  until 
she  could  not  be  retaken.  She  went  from 
her  hiding-place  as  soon  as  the  peasant  had 
passed,  and  began  to  run.  The  sound  of  a  dis- 
tant whistle  made  her  tremble  in  every  limb. 
It  was  the  steamer  !  What  should  she  do  if  she 
were  too  late?  Happily  she  remembered  that 
the  boat  always  whistled  a  warning  before 
rounding  a  little  cliff  the  other  side  of 
the  town.  She  had  still  a  half-hour  before 
her.  It  was  not  too  much,  for  the  place  of  em- 
barkation was  on  the  other  side  of  the  river, 
and  she  must  take  a  ferry-boat,  which  made  the 
passage  for  a  few  kopecks.  Agnes  trembled 
once  more  at  the  thought  that  she  might  miss 
the  boat. 


ALONE.  I  •]•] 

At  length  she  reached  the  bend  of  the 
Volga.  The  ferry-boat  was  at  its  slip,  ready  to 
leave,  loaded  with  horses,  carts,  peasants,  and 
sheep. 

"  Wait !  "  Agnes  cried,  several  times.  She 
screamed,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  voice 
had  no  power.  She  ran,  and  her  feet  appeared 
not  to  move,  as  one  feels  in  dreams. 

However,  she  had  been  heard,  for  the  peas- 
ants, who  had  seized  the  poles  to  push  the 
boat,  stopped.  She  cleared  the  plank  of  em- 
barkation at  a  bound,  and  found  herself  in  the 
midst  of  a  group  of  a  dozen  or  fifteen  persons, 
gathered  at  the  stern,  while  the  animals  were 
at  the   other  end. 

"  Sit  down,  my  daughter,"  said  to  her,  pleas- 
antly, an  old  peasant,  wrapped  to  her  eyes  in 
a  great  woollen  shawl.  " "  You  ought  to  be 
tired  after  running  like  that.  Bless  me !  What 
a  blessing  to  be  young  i  " 

The  good  woman  moved  to  make  a  place 
for  Agnes    on  the  bench.     The    fugitive,    with 


178  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

a  word  of  thanks,  sat  down.  Aristocratic 
pride  had  never  shown  itself  in  the  manner 
of  this  undisciplined  girl.  Far  from  believ- 
ing herself  to  be  of  a  race  superior  to  that  of 
the  peasants  who  lived,  morally,  so  far  beneath 
her,  she  leaned  rather  —  and  that  instinctively, 
for  she  was  not  acquainted  with  the  modern 
doctrines  —  towards  the  belief  which  looks  for 
the  principle  of  all  the  virtues  in  these  simple 
souls.  The  odor  of  the  sheep-skin  touloupes 
offended  her  somewhat,  but  she  silenced  her 
disgust  in  the  name  of  Christian  law,  and  was 
thus  able  to  conquer  it,  but  not  without  the 
help  of  some  stoicism. 

The  ferry-boat  moved  slowly,  struggling 
against  a  very  strong  current.  It  was  not  a 
ferry-boat  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  for  it 
was  not  held  by  ropes ;  it  was  a  great  flat 
pontoon,  calculated  to  receive  a  cumbersome 
rather  than  a  heavy  load,  such  as  wagons  and 
herds.  The  passengers  seemed  to  be  more  or 
less  sleepy,  with  the  exception  of  two  peasants, 


ALONE.  1 79 

very  much  engaged  in  the  discussion  of  the 
price    of  cattle. 

Agnes  looked  around  her.  The  steamer 
which  she  was  to  take  was  seen  at  the  bend  of 
the  river,  but  it  was  still  so  far  away,  that  the 
noise  of  its  paddles  was  scarcely  that  of  an 
indistinct  echo,  and  its  headlights  shone  con- 
fusedly through  the  thin  veil  of  fog  floating 
over   the   stream. 

It  was  an  exquisite  spectacle,  so  much  so, 
that  in  spite  of  the  contradictory  emotions 
which  agitated  her,  Agnes  could  not  refrain 
from  remarking  its  marvellous  beauty.  The  fog 
above  the  river  was  so  transparent  that  the 
moon  was  reflected  in  the  still  waters;  only 
their  surface  was  a  little  dim,  like  a  mirror 
clouded  by  a  breath.  The  banks  disappeared 
in  a  floating  mist,  now  more  and  now  less 
dense ;  the  steeples  of  a  village,  situated  on  a 
little  cliff,  emerged,  sketching  their  fine  silhou- 
ettes on  the  silvery  sky  like  so  many  minarets. 

An    imperceptible    breeze  carried    the   vapor 


l80  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

along  with  the  current  of  the  river  in  such 
a  way  that  everything  had  a  dreamy  look, 
even  life  itself 

"  It  is  like  my  destiny,"  thought  Agnes, 
"  Do    I    know   where    I    am    going?  " 

The  ferry-boat  neared  the  wharf  of  the 
steamer,  which  arrived  at  the  same  moment. 
There  was  some  shipping  of  freight,  which 
gave  the  young  girl  time  to  find  Mademoiselle 
Titofs  trunk  and  take  it  with  her.  Five  minutes 
later  the  paddle-wheels  awakened  the  echoes 
of  the  sleeping  forest,  and  Agnes,  transformed 
into  Mademoiselle  Titof,  went  towards  Nijni 
Novgorod,  from,  which  she  could  easily  reach 
Moscow. 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  l8l 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A    NEW    EXPERIENCE. 

After  a  troubled  sleep  on  the  narrow  cush- 
ion of  the  ladies'  room,  Mademoiselle  Sourof 
awoke  the  next  morning  with  the  first  light  of 
dawn. 

It  was  a  strange  awakening,  confused,  and 
almost  happy  at  first.  Twice  a  year  Agnes  had 
made  this  voyage,  back  and  forth  between 
Petersburg  and  Sourova,  and  at  the  first  mo- 
ment it  seemed  as  if  she  was  making  it  now, 
with  her  mother;  raised  on  her  elbow,  she 
looked  about  her  and  saw  only  strangers. 

It  was  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had  burst  above 
her  head ;  alone,  so  far  from  her  friends,  and 
in  spite  of  them.  She  realized  for  the  first 
time,  since  the  evening  before,  the  pain 
which   they    must  have  felt,  and  suddenly  the 


1 82  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

irrepressible,  burning  tears   gushed  forth   from 
her  sorrowful  heart. 

What  had  they  thought  on  their  coming 
back?  What  a  return!  What  fears!  what 
tears  !  Above  all,  the  thought  of  her  father 
rent  Agnes's  soul.  Perhaps  he  cursed  her  at 
this  morning  hour,  when  the  sun,  entering 
his    room,    was    accustomed    to    bring    to    him 

—  the  father  of  a  family,  happy  in  his  children 

—  the  joy  of  a  new  day. 

"  Oh !  I  did  not  think  enough  of  them !  " 
said  Agnes  to  herself.  "  I  thought  only  of  my- 
self.    I  am  a  selfish  girl." 

An  overpowering  desire  to  turn  on  her  steps 
and  immediately  return  home  again  seized 
upon  her.  It  was  too  cruel  to  pain  those 
whom  she  loved;  better  to  suffer  herself. 
Quickly  arranging  her  disordered  toilet,  she 
ascended  to  the  deck.  Her  voice  was 
cheerful,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears 
which  were  not  those  of  sorrow.  Seeing  the 
captain,   she   asked    him    if,    before    reaching 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  183 

Nijni  Novgorod,  there  was  a  chance  of  meeting, 
at  some  stopping-place,  a  boat  going  down  the 
Volga. 

"  No,  miss,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  we  shall 
not  meet  a  single  one  before  arriving.  Do 
you  want  to  go  home  again  ?  " 

Offended  at  this  familiarity,  although  it  was 
quite  paternal,  —  for  the  captain  was  a  stout 
man,  with  gray  hair,  not  very  gallant  by  nature, 
— Agnes  replied  by  a  very  sharp  "  No,"  and 
regained  the  ladies'  room,  where  she  felt  herself 
safe.  Two  or  three  hours  later  Nijni  Nov- 
gorod was  outlined  on  the  blue  sky,  with  its 
belt  of  old  strong  walls  and  churches.  The 
waters  of  the  Oka,  mingled  with  those  of  the 
Volga,  enlarged  the  river  almost  to  the  pro- 
portions of  a  lake. 

Agnes  thought  that  the  die  was  cast.  Since 
morning  she  had  turned  it  all  over,  and  she 
had  concluded  that  to  go  back  would  be 
to  disown  the  firmness  and  stoicism  which  she 
had  taken  as  the  basis  of  her  life.     And  then  a 


1 84  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

little  taste  for  adventure ;  the  secret  satisfaction 
of  having  made  this  expedition  so  far  so  well ; 
an  unavowed  desire  to  know  about  the  life  of  the 
young  girls  whose  fathers  were  not  rich  landed 
proprietors,  —  in  short,  the  worst  sentiments  of 
Agnes's  mind,  disguised,  even  to  herself,  under 
a  very  presentable  exterior,  inspired  her  with 
the  resolution  to  proceed  on  her  journey. 

The  reflection  that  most  influenced  her,  but 
which  she  would  not  admit  even  to  herself, 
was  that  she  dreaded  horribly  the  reproaches 
which  would  await  her  at  home,  and  she  felt 
very  strongly  that  were  she  obliged  to  make 
amends  for  her  fault  she  should  only  resist 
the  more. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  beginning  over  again?" 
said  she  to  herself  "  It  would  always  be  the 
same  thing.  I  will  write  to  them.  That  will 
be  better." 

The  steamer  stopped.  Mademoiselle  Titofs 
little  trunk  was  given  over  to  Agnes,  who,  at 
first,   did   not  know  what  to  do  with  it.     Since 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  185 

her  earliest  childhood  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  consider  a  private  carriage  as  a  necessary- 
appendage  to  a  station  or  a  wharf.  Now  this 
was  not  the  case. 

Then,  vsry  bravely,  she  did  as  she  had  seen 
others  do  in  like  circumstances.  She  called  a 
drojky,  ordered  the  driver  to  put  her  trunk  on 
his  box,  and  directed  him  to  go  to  the  station 
of  the  railway  for  Moscow. 

It  was  a  very  new  sensation  to  Agnes  to 
find  herself  in  a  vehicle  so  unsteady  that  it 
threatened,  at  each  moment  to  throw  her  upon 
the  rough  and  uneven  pavement.  Above  all, 
the  coachman,  perched  in  an  indescribable 
fashion  upon  his  narrow  seat,  with  his  feet 
resting  on  Mademoiselle  Titofs  little  trunk  in 
a  grotesque  manner,  was  an  object  of  fear  to 
her.  It  looked  impossible  that  this  strange 
equipage  could  arrive  safely  at  the  top  of 
the  hill,  up  which  they  were  so  painfully 
toiling. 

Some   open   shops,    remnants    of    the    great 


1 86  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER, 

annual  fair,  still  gave  to  the  place  such  an  air 
of  animation  as  astonished  the  young  girl.  It 
was  quite  a  long  time  since  she  had  been  in 
this  city,  as  some  years  since  a  new  railroad 
had  been  constructed,  which  ran  nearer  to  the 
town  in  the  neighborhood  of  Sourova.  But 
Agnes  was  not  inclined  to  examine  the 
picturesque  side  of  things.  The  hot  sun  gave 
her  a  violent  headache,  her  empty  stomach 
disturbed  her  cruelly,  and,  together  with  the 
jolting  of  the  road,  she  felt  very  much  like 
being  sea-sick. 

She  was  at  length  landed,  safe  and  sound, 
contrary  to  her  expectations,  before  the  little 
temporary  wooden  building  which  then  served 
as  a  station  to  the  railway  for  Moscow. 

The   train    left   soon.     She  had  just  time  to 

register  her  baggage  and  take    a  cup  of  very 

black   and    bitter   tea,  mingled  with    a  whitish, 

•muddy  mixture,  which    pretended    to  take  the 

place  of  cream. 

When  leaving  the  ticket-office  Agnes  counted 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  1 8/ 

her  money.  She  had  about  a  hundred  roubles, 
for  her  father  and  her  Aunt  Sophie  never 
allowed  her  to  want  money. 

A  hundred  roubles !  It  was  an  enormous 
sum  for  a  young  girl  who  bought  only  the 
superfluities  of  life.  At  least  it  represented  a 
good  many  pairs  of  gloves.  Thus  she  took  a 
good  seat  in  a  first-class  carriage,  in  order  the 
more  easily  to  endure  the  eight-hours'  journey 
which  separated  her  from  Moscow,  with  a  feel- 
ing of  being  well-to-do. 

Her  sorrow  was  entirely  past;  at  least,  she 
thought  so.  The  feeling  of  her  own  respon- 
bility,  and  the  plan  which  she  had  conceived 
vaguely  at  first,  now  more  clearly,  since  her 
awakening  on  the  boat,  gave  her  a  certain 
consideration  for  her  own  decision  and  energy. 

This  plan  was  quite  simple.  Mademoiselle 
Titofs  passport  gave  her  all  the  advantages 
of  a  very  honorable  position  as  governess, 
since  it  testified  to  the  sojourn  of  the  said 
governess  in  the  house  of  Monsieur  and  Mad- 


1 88  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

ame  Sourof,  landholders  in  the  province  of 
Nijni  Novgorod.  What  more  natural,  then, 
than  to  pass  herself  off  as  Mademoiselle  Titof, 
and  seek  a  position  in  harmony  with  Agnes's 
taste  ? 

The  plan  was  very  well  conceived ;  but  how 
does  one  find  these  situations  as  a  governess? 

Agnes  was  not  troubled  about  this.  She 
read,  every  day,  in  the  advertisements  of  the 
newspapers,  such  immediate  and  numerous  de- 
mands that  she  would  surely  be  embarrassed 
in  making  her  choice.  She  would  take  a  be- 
fitting situation  in  a  distinguished  family,  and 
this  would  be  the  most  noble  revenge  for  her 
upon  those  who  had  misunderstood  her.  When 
she  had  proved  that  she  was  able  to  support 
herself  honorably  they  would  be  forced  to 
cease  treating  her  as  a  disobedient  child. 

These  thoughts,  and  some  others,  made  the 
time  pass  very  quickly,  if  not  very  pleasantly, 
until  the  moment  of  the  arrival  of  the  train 
at    Moscow,   in   the  poorly-lighted  station ;   for 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  1 89 

it  was,  as  at  Nijni,  a  building  of  a  temporary 
sort. 

As  she  had  done  in  the  morning,  Agnes 
took  a  carriage,  and  confided  herself  to  the 
care  of  a  very  eager  driver,  whose  zeal  ap- 
peared to  her  to  be  a  good  augury.  The 
equipage  was  deep  and  large  enough  to  allow 
her  to  take  the  trunk  beside  her. 

Fortunately  she  had  found  in  her  memory 
the  name  of  a  hotel  situated  opposite  the  post- 
office,  where  she  had  formerly  passed  the  night 
with  her  family.  She  gave  the  order  to  be 
driven  there ;  but  before  a  hundred  yards  had 
been  passed  she  perceived  that  the  amiability 
of  the  coachman  arose  from  his  preliminary 
libations.  The  worthy  fellow  had  no  malice 
in  him,  and  the  discourse  which  he  addressed 
to  his  horse  was  of  the  most  affectionate  char- 
acter ;  but  he  had  a  way  of  driving  at  a  gallop, 
and  going  crosswise  through  the  street,  which 
constantly  made  Agnes  fear  that  they  should 
break    into    one    of    the    little    gardens    which 


I90  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

fronted  the  buildings  in  that  part  of  the 
city. 

It  was  already  late ;  the  lighting  by 
petroleum  lamps  left  much  to  be  desired,  and 
the  little  houses,  of  poor  and  ancient  aspect, 
spread  themselves  out,  one  so  much  like  an- 
other, that  at  more  than  one  turning  Agnes 
believed  she  was  repassing  the  same  street 
through  an  error  of  the  driver. 

"  Please,"  said  she  to  him,  touching  his 
shoulder  lightly,  "  drive  your  horse  a  little 
straighter,  and  not  so  fast,  or  we  shall  cer- 
tainly be  upset." 

"  You  are  perfectly  right,  my  dove,"  replied 
the  man,  regarding  her  in  a  most  friendly  way. 
"  We  shall  certainly  be  upset ;  what  a  head  you 
have  to  think  of  that !  " 

He  soon  brought  his  horse  to  a  walk.  The 
poor  beast,  overdriven  since  morning,  wished  for 
nothing  better  than  to  go  as  slowly  as  possible ; 
and,  to  the  inexpressible  despair  of  Agnes,  the 
driver  began  to  tell  his  tale  to  her. 


A  NEIV  EXPERIENCE.  191 

"  You  come  from  the  province,  my  little 
sister,"  said  he  to  her,  turning  round  on  his 
narrow  seat,  in  such  a  way  that  the  young 
girl  feared  each  moment  that  he  would  fall 
over  on  her  in  the  jolts  which  the  slow  pace  of 
the  horse  seemed  only  to  make  deeper,  without 
lessening  their  violence.  "  You  come  to  take  a 
situation,  —  one  can  see  that  soon  enough.  You 
are  well  dressed,  in  very  good  style.  You  want 
to  be  a  chambermaid,  eh?  Say,  do  you  want 
to  be  a  chambermaid  ?  " 

"  We  shall  never  get  there  at  this  rate," 
replied  Agnes,  impatiently,  but  without  anger. 
Accustomed  to  being  familiarly  addressed  by 
the  peasants,  she  did  not  feel  hurt  at  being 
treated  in  the  same  way  by  the  driver  of  a 
public  carriage,  though  seeing  him  intoxicated 
was  slightly  aggravating. 

"  Be  easy,  it  is  safer ;  as  you  said  yourself, 
just  now.  We  will  go  fast  when  the  road 
gets  better." 

Agnes  gazed    despairingly  into  the  darkness 


192  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

of  the  long  street,  scarcely  lightened,  here  and 
there,  by  a  smoking  street  lamp. 

"You  want  to  be  a  chambermaid,"  repeated 
the  driver,  returning  to  his  fixed  idea.  "  It 
is  not  a  bad  trade  —  but  that  of  a  cook !  Ah, 
my  dear!  I  have  in  my  time  eaten 
good  cooking.  No,  the  masters,  you  under- 
stand, will  never  eat  as  good !  They  have  a 
hundred  little  dishes  as  stupid  as  can  be,  and 
then  the  mistress  comes  to  the  kitchen  and 
says,  *  Glaphyra,  you  will  do  this ;  you  will  do 
that.'  You  well  know  that  they  always  say 
'Yes.'  You  must  not  contend  with  masters; 
they  are  like  horses ;  they  become  vicious  when 
you  oppose  them.  You  answer  Yes ;  but  you 
do  as  you  please.  My  first  wife  did  her  own 
way,  and  the  mistress  never  discovered  it. 
And  the  more  she  changed  houses,  the 
more  she  found  it  the  same  thing.  Masters, 
you  see,  are  all  alike;  they  don't  understand 
anything." 

"  You  will  fall !  "   said  Agnes   to  him,  more 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  193 

occupied  with  the  balance  of  that  slanderer 
of  masters  than  with  his  words. 

"  Have  no  fear,  —  I  am  so  used  to  it." 

In  spite  of  this  consoling  reply  the  man 
placed  himself  somewhat  straighter  on  his  seat, 
and  lifted  his  reins,  in  which  it  was  a  wonder 
that  the  horse  had  not  entangled  himself,  for 
they  were  dragging  on  the  ground. 

"  Yes,  you  see,"  continued  he,  "  my  first 
wife  was  a  cook,  because  that  is  a  good  trade ; 
but  she  was  not  neat,  —  no,  she  was  slovenly, 
to  do  her  justice,  —  God  keep  her  soul! 
So  as  a  second  wife  I  took  a  laundress,  and 
now  I  am  clean  as  a  new  penny.  Wouldn't 
you  like  to  be  a  laundress?  It  is  a  good 
trade." 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  reach  the 
hotel,"  answered  Agnes.  "  I  am.  cold  and  tired. 
Be  good  enough  to  drive  a  little  faster." 

"  O  my  little  angel !  "  cried  the  drunkard ; 
"you  ought  to  have  said  so.  Just  wait;  we 
shall  be  there  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye." 


194  DOS/A 'S  DAUGHTER. 

A  lash  of  the  whip  reached  both  the  horse 
and  Agnes's  head,  which  was  fortunately  pro- 
tected by  her  veil,  and  the  whole  equipage 
made  a  prodigious  bound,  as  though  it  were 
going  to  fly  towards  the  stars.  They  soon 
struck  the  ground  again,  and  with  great  force, 
as  Agnes  realized ;  but  the  driver  was  impertur- 
bable, and  the  oscillations  which  he  described 
about  his  centre  of  gravity  in  no  wise  disturbed 
his  good-humor, 

"  Old  boy !  "  cried  he  to  his  horse,  making 
the  lash  curl  round  the  poor  beast's  ears,  "  you 
must  show  that  you  have  got  legs !  We  are 
carrying  one  of  our  own  set.  Come  on,  boy ! 
Better  than  you  do  for  aristocrats !  " 

"  Boy "  seemed  to  comprehend  principally 
that  the  whistling  of  a  whip-lash  in  his  ears 
was  very  stimulating.  He  ran  for  half  a  minute 
so  swifdy,  that,  owing  to  the  jolts,  Agnes  saw 
the  street  filled  with  a  myriad  of  lamps  by  no 
means  there.  Then  suddenly,  without  apparent 
cause,  except,  perhaps,  that  he  had  run  enough, 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  195 

he  stopped,  planted  himself  on  his  four  feet, 
and  refused  to  go  on. 

"  Eh  !   go  on,  dog  !  "  cried  the  driver. 

"  Boy "  disdained  an  answer  to  this  address. 

"  Well,  go  on !  "  repeated  the  drunkard,  giv- 
ing him  a  hard  blow  with  his  whip. 

"Boy"  flung  up  all  four  feet  with  such 
unanimity  that  shafts  and  harness  all  flew  into 
the  air. 

"  Ah !  the  cursed  beast !  he  has  broken  the 
shaft !  Wait,  my  little  dove  !  This  don't  amount 
to  anything.  I  am  used  to  it.  I  have  some 
string  in  my  pocket,  and  we  will  soon  fix 
it!" 

Agnes  now  came  near  crying  with  rage. 
Was  her  expedition  to  close  with  this  ridic- 
ulous denouement  ?  Passing  the  night  in  a 
deserted  street  in  Moscow,  beside  a  vicious 
horse  and  a  tipsy  driver,  in  order  to  guard  a 
trunk  which  did  not  belong  to  her ! 

Had  the  trunk  been  her  own,  instead  of 
having   been    purloined    from    her    governess. 


196  dosia:s  daughter. 

the  young  girl  would  have  readily  abandoned  it 
at  the  risk  of  never  seeing  it  again.  But  per- 
haps it  contained  family  souvenirs,  objects  of 
value  to  the  poor  girl,  disinherited  by  fate,  and 
this  thought  was  enough  to  inspire  Agnes 
with  an  unalterable  resolution  not  to  let  this 
encumbrance  out  of  her  sight. 

Since  leaving  the  station  they  had  not  met 
a  vehicle,  so  deserted  was  the  part  of  the  city 
through  which  they  drove,  and  she  had  no 
hope  of  seeing  help  arrive  in  the  shape  of  an 
empty  carriage.  If  only  she  could  carry  her 
t>aggage  herself! 

"  I  wish  I  were  at  home !. "  thought  she, 
suddenly ;  but,  reproaching  herself  at  once  for 
this  lack  of  courage,  she  made  a  firm  resolution 
to  overcome  all  possible  weaknesses. 

"  Well,"  said  she  to  the  driver,  "  is  it 
mended  ?  " 

He  was  very  busy  with  the  broken  shaft, 
which  he  had  somehow  repaired  with  a  piece 
of  wood    and    some    string.       A    little  sobered 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  1 97 

by  the  accident  he  was  not  so  talkative,  and 
appeared  to  be  less  satisfied  with  himself. 

"  See  how  I  have  made  it  strong !  "  said  he. 
"  Let  us  go,  miss ;  have  no  fear.  We  shall 
arrive  in  good  shape,  all  the  same,  only  it  will 
take  longer.  With  a  broken  shaft  we  cannot 
go  very  fast "  — 

"But  your  horse,  —  will  he  go?"  demanded 
Agnes. 

"  He's  as  quiet  as  a  lamb.  When  he  has 
done  with  his  little  antics  a  child  could  lead 
him  with  a  thread." 

"  Boy  "  was,  in  fact,  very  steady  —  so  steady 
that  he  could  not  be  made  to  trot.  Agnes 
crossed  Moscow  at  a  walking  pace,  so  her  ex- 
pedition took  some  time. 

When  they  arrived  in  a  more  central  quarter 
a  new  trouble  arose.  At  each  moment,  other 
coachmen,  who  were  in  haste,  were  railing  at 
the  unfortunate  driver  of  "  Boy,"  showering 
on  him  both  oaths  and  pleasantries.  Agnes 
began  to  find  the  common   people  less  agree- 


IpS  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

able  than  she  had  imagined  them,  and  now 
only  desired  to  get  away  from  them. 

At  length,  after  driving  through  unknown 
streets  and  squares,  Agnes  was  set  down  before 
the  hotel  she  had  named.  There  were  only 
servants  about  at  this  untimely  hour,  and 
Agnes  had  some  difficulty  in  making  them 
understand  that  she  wanted  a  quiet  room  for 
the  night. 

A  waiter,  less  stupid  or  less  sleepy  than  the 
others,  took  a  candle  from  a  table,  made  a 
sign  to  a  porter  in  a  pink  shirt  and  bright  yel- 
low pantaloons,  who  shouldered  Mademoiselle 
Titof's  trunk,  and  the  three  began  to  ascend 
the  stairs. 

Passing  floor  after  floor  the  little  procession 
finally  reached  the  top  story ;  their  shadows 
made  grotesque  outlines  on  the  ceilings,  but 
Agnes  was  no  longer  disposed  to  look  for 
the  ridiculous.  A  door  was  opened  before 
her,  her  trunk  placed  on  the  floor,  and  the 
two  men  were  about  to  go  away. 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  199 

"  I  want  to  have  some  tea,"  said  Agnes  to 
the  man  who   seemed  the   most  intelligent. 

"  Tea  at  this  hour !  " 

"  Yes ;  some  tea  at  this  hour.  In  the  first 
place  it  is  not  midnight,  and  then  in  hotels 
I  suppose  one  can  have  what  one  wants  by- 
paying  for  it," 

"  Not  midnight !  "  repeated  the  bewildered 
waiter.  "  Indeed !  then  I  will  have  some  tea 
brought  you." 

"  Make  haste  !  " 

"All   right." 

He  disappeared  in  the  interminable  passage, 
where  his  heavy  steps  resounded  for  a  long 
time. 

Agnes  remained  alone  with  her  candle,  which 
ran  down  in  a  lamentable  manner;  seated  on 
a  chair,  she  waited. 

In  a  few  minutes,  weary  of  her  inaction,  she 
got  up  and  inspected  the  little  bed.  It  was  a 
mattress,  placed  on  four  boards  in  a  little  iron 
bedstead,  as  plain  as  possible.     It  was  not  its 


200  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

simplicity  which  made  her  anxious ;  but  under 
the  only  covering  there  was  nothing,  —  neither 
sheets,  nor  a  pillow-case  to  cover  the  pillow, 
which  was  of  extremely  doubtful  color. 

"  It  is  not  their  custom  to  keep  the  beds 
ready  for  travellers,"  thought  Agnes.  "  Pres- 
ently, when  the  tea  is  brought,  they  will  bring 
sheets." 

The  whole  house  seemed  as  if  plunged  in 
a  deep  slumber;  not  a  sound  betrayed  any 
occupant  whatever.  After  waiting  some  time 
Agnes  opened  the  door  of  her  room,  took  her 
candle  in  her  hand,  and  ventured  out  into  the 
passage.  Here  and  there,  before  a  door,  was 
seen  a  pair  of  boots,  denoting  that  the  chamber 
was  occupied.  Agnes  went  on  to  the  stair- 
case ;  it  was  totally  dark ;  this  great  empty 
cage  seemed  as  if  made  for  giants.  Taken 
aback,  she  sought  for  a  bell-rope.  A  whole 
battery  of  electric  bells  was  spread  out  within 
her  reach.  She  pressed  one  button ;  no  re- 
sponse followed.     One  after  the  other  she  tried 


A   NEW  EXPERIENCE.  201 

them  all  without  hearing  a  tinkle,  even  in  the 
farthest  space.  She  raised  her  candle  and 
looked  on  the  ceiling  for  the  wires  which 
ought  to  correspond  to  the  buttons ;  there  was 
no  vestige  of  them:  the  buttons  were  there 
merely  for  the  sake  of  good  looks. 

Agnes  had  never  been  extremely  patient, 
but  she  now  felt  herself  extremely  angry. 
Returning  to  her  chamber  she  discovered  a 
bell-rope  and  hung  on  it  with  wrath;  the 
result  of  her  efforts  was  the  same  as  before. 
The  tranquillity  of  the  house  did  not  appear 
to  be  disturbed  in  the  least.  For  a  moment 
Agnes  thought  she  would  go  down  and  make 
a  racket  in  the  vestibule,  sure  of  getting  some 
response  to  this  energetic  proceeding;  but  she 
reflected  that  it  might  end  disastrously  for 
her,  so  she  proceeded  to  arrange  herself  to 
pass  a  bad  night  as  well  as  possible.  She 
spread  her  cloak  over  the  pillow  and  laid 
down  on  the  bed,  which  was  as  hard  as  an 
ironing-board      covered     with     dimity.        See- 


202  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

ing  that  she  had  no  matches  she  decided 
to  keep  her  light  burning,  which  could  not 
be  any  great  help,  as  the  candle  was  scarcely- 
more  than  a  puddle  of  tallow,  in  the  midst  of 
which  burned  a  smoky,  dried  mushroom,  which 
answered  for  a  wick.  Turning  her  back  to 
this  mock-light  Agnes  tried  to  sleep. 

She  had  scarcely  closed  her  eyes  when  she 
felt  something  run  rapidly  over  her  hand; 
sitting  up  suddenly  she  instinctively  brushed 
this  strange  object  with  her  other  hand, 
then  looked  around  her  to  see  what  it  could 
be. 

An  inexpressible  horror  and  disgust  seized 
her  when  she  saw  the  floor,  the  furniture,  and 
even  the  bed,  covered  with  beetles,  large,  slow, 
and  black,  and  cockroaches  of  a  golden-brown, 
running  with  mad  activity.  They  moved 
about  by  hundreds,  running  to  and  fro,  as 
if  the  aim  of  their  life  was  to  run,  no  matter 
where,  Agnes's  clothes  were  covered  with 
them;   the  bed-covering,  white  before,  seemed 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  203 

now  to  be  ornamented  with  moving  designs 
formed  by  these  nimble  things. 

Agnes  knew  that  such  insects  existed,  having 
occasionally  seen  one  run  in  the  kitchen  or 
the  pantry,  which  was  immediately  chased  out, 
in  spite  of  the  popular  tradition  which  attrib- 
uted to  them  the  power  of  bringing  good  luck 
to  a  house. 

But  such  a  flood  of  insects  had  never 
entered  her  imagination,  even  in  dreams.  She 
stood  up  in  the  middle  of  her  room,  terrified, 
not  knowing  what  to  do,  shaking  her  dress 
mechanically,  to  throw  off  the  unwelcome 
creatures.  The  candle  threatened  to  go  out; 
Agnes  thought  that,  with  the  return  of  the 
darkness,  these  myriads  of  bugs  would  fasten 
on  her,  and  a  chill  seized  her. 

"  Ah,  no !  "  said  she  to  herself;  "  I  prefer 
the  street." 

She  looked  at  her  watch,  and  found  it  was 
half-past  three  in  the  morning.  In  half  an  hour 
the  bells  would  ring  for  matins,  and  she  would 


204  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

have  a  refuge.  Her  resolution  was  quickly 
made.  She  descended  the  stairs,  taking  care  to 
set  her  candle  on  the  top  in  order  to  light  up 
her  way  as  much  as  possible.  She  had  hardly 
reached  the  second  floor  when  the  wick  went 
out  with  a  little  crackling,  which  resounded  in 
the  deep  silence.  She  continued  to  descend, 
her  heavy  heart  full  of  bitterness  and  disgust 
for  men  and  things.  A  badly-smelling  night- 
lamp  feebly  lighted  the  vestibule.  Two  waiters 
were  asleep,  stretched  out  on  a  bench.  Agnes 
thought  she  would  wake  them  to  tell  them 
the  facts ;  but  she  reflected  that  they  were 
not  responsible  for  the  care  of  the  house,  and 
that  it  would  be  better  to  address  herself  to 
the  proprietor  when  day  should  come.  A  new 
fear  now  came  over  her:  what  if  the  door 
should  be  locked,  what  should  she  do? 

An  iron  bar  fastened  the  door,  but  it  was  not 
very  heavy,  and  Agnes  moved  it  without  much 
trouble.  The  open  door  permitted  the  fresh, 
damp  air  to  come  in,  and  this  was  like  a  resur- 


A  NEIV  EXPERIENCE.  205 

rection  to  the  young  girl.  Her  courage  and 
strength  returned  to  her  instantly.  Shaking 
her  clothing  for  the  last  time  on  the  thresh- 
hold  of  this  inhospitable  house,  she  softly 
closed  the  door,  and  found  herself  alone  in  the 
street,  lighted  by  the  dim  gas  of  some  street 
lamps. 

Where  should  she  find  a  church  ?  It  was  not 
difficult,  for  churches  are  everywhere  in  Mos- 
cow; one  could  not  go  two  hundred  yards,  no 
matter  in  what  direction,  without  seeing,  near 
at  hand,  the  strange  form  of  a  dome  or  a 
steeple.  A  breeze  made  the  flame  of  the  street 
lamps  tremble ;  the  pavement  was  damp  ;  a  few 
drops  of  rain  falling  from  the  roofs  struck  on 
Agnes's  face  as  she  tried  to  find  her  bearings. 

"  I  have  no  umbrella,"  thought  she ;  "  I 
must  buy  one." 

A  new  gulf  opened  before  her  eyes ;  what 
an  enormous  quantity  of  things  she  must 
buy !  But  at  that  hour  this  question  was  an 
idle  one ;     those  who  sold  umbrellas   slept  as 


206  DOS/A 'S  DAUGHTER. 

well  as  others,  and  if  it  rained  she  must  be 
wet. 

Even  this  consideration  did  not  lead  her  to 
reenter  the  house  she  had  just  left.  She 
went  indifferently  to  the  left  or  right,  taking 
care  only  to  look  about  her  in  such  a  way  as  to 
be  able  to  return  when  day  broke  and  take 
Mademoiselle  Titof's  trunk,  which  was  now  to 
her  a  conscientious  duty,  and  for  the  time  an 
extremely  annoying  one. 

Agnes  had  been  walking  scarcely  five  min- 
utes, when  she  heard  the  first  stroke  of  the 
matin-bells  sound  very  near  to  her,  —  that 
boom  of  the  largest  bell  which  always 
produces  such  a  deep  and  mysterious  im- 
pression. 

She  trembled,  with  the  soil  itself,  so  power- 
ful was  the  concussion  of  the  mass  of  bronze ; 
it  seemed  to  her  as  though  her  soul  was  sud- 
denly awakened  with  the  resonance  of  the  air. 

The  bells  were  sounding  one  after  another, 
and   all    the    churches    of    Moscow    answered 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  207 

to  this  call.  Agnes  felt  the  disgusts  and 
terrors  of  that  night  flying  up  to  the  sky 
with  that  strange  harmony,  brought  only  by 
chance,  and  which  at  times  gave  her  ex- 
quisite musical  sensations.  Guided  by  those 
sounds  she  found  herself  before  a  church. 
Two  or  three  women,  with  black  shawls  on 
their  heads,  passed  her  in  the  door-way ;  they 
belonged  to  the  people :  small  shopkeepers, 
or  servants,  who  came  to  bless  their  day- 
work  with  a  prayer. 

Agnes  followed  them;  that  kind  of  people 
were    the   very   ones   whom    she  loved. 

The  church  was  very  dark  except  where 
the  chandeliers  burning  before  the  holy 
images  spread  a  little  luminous  halo  three 
feet  wide.  The  faces  and  hands  of  saints, 
darkened  by  age,  emerged  from  their  long 
robes,  made  of  gold  or  silver.  Evangelists, 
one  finger  pointing  to  heaven,  with  a  book 
in  their  left  hand;  virgins  presenting  the 
divine   child;    archangels    trampling    the    evil 


208  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

spirit,  —  saints  of  every  kind,  preaching  or 
teaching,  like  Olez  or  Alexander  Nevski, 
crowded  on  the  walls  of  the  little  church, 
which   smelt  strongly  of  incense    and  wax. 

From  time  to  time  a  human  figure,  still 
half-shrouded  in  darkness,  came  near  a 
chandelier,  with  a  little  wax-taper;  the  taper 
was  lighted  and  took  its  place  among  others, 
whilst  the  half-veiled  figure  knelt,  kissed  the 
image,  and  went  back  to  darkness.  The 
impression  was,  on  the  whole,  very  mysterious, 
but  also  very  sweet  and  comforting.  The 
sacrifice  which  took  place  there  was  an  in- 
nocent one,  a    mystery  of  peace    and    love. 

The  deacon  appeared  before  the  closed 
door  of  the  chancel,  and  his  deep  voice 
began  the  morning  prayers.  The  choir  singers 
responded  to  the  verses ;  the  service  was  con- 
ducted with  simplicity  and  touching  good 
feeling.  Little  by  little  the  church  was  half 
filled  :  peasants  going  to  their  work ;  merchants 
ready  to  open  their  shops ;  workmen  and  work- 


A  NEIV  EXPERIENCE.  209 

women,  who,  moved  by  the  religious  sentiment 
which  is  so  strong  in  Russia,  took  from  their 
sleep  the  half-hour  for  morning  worship, 

Agnes  had  never  attended  matins  ;  often 
in  winter  the  loud  bells  had  disturbed  her 
sleep ;  she  had  turned  her  pretty  head  upon 
her  pillow,  thinkjng  "  It  is  four  o'clock,"  and 
had  slept  again  her  happy  sleep.  Never 
had  she  dreamed  of  the  meaning  of  these 
early  bells  during  the  dark  hours  of  the 
winter,  when  the  north  wind  blew,  and  the 
snow  was  piled  up  at  the  house  doors. 

It  was  a  very  strange  thing  for  her  to  go 
into  a  church  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning ; 
such  experience  she  could  have  only  by 
leaving  her  father's  house  and  travelling  a 
long  way;  but  for  those  whom  she  saw 
there  it  was  very  simple ;  they  rose  every 
morning  at  the  peal  of  the  bell,  and  God  knows 
what  labor  filled  their  time  until  the  sun  went 
down. 

There  were  in  the  church  some  babies  still 


210  DOSLVS   DAUGHTER. 

asleep,  wrapped  in  shawls,  brought  by  their 
mothers,  and  put  down  on  the  pavement,  there 
to  finish  out  their  interrupted  night's  rest; 
there  were  other  children,  a  little  older,  who 
stood  up,  quite  awake,  examining  the  saints, 
and  listening  to  the  music,  filling  their  eyes 
and  their  ears  with  something  rich  and  warm, 
sumptuous  and  welcoming,  which  to  them  was 
religion  itself. 

The  service  ended ;  the  sextons  came  to 
collect  the  tapers,  which  they  blew  out,  leaving 
the  lamps  still  burning;  the  church  was  soon 
empty.  Agnes  went  out,  almost  the  last  one ; 
nothing  hurried  her,  not  even  hunger.  She  had 
forgotten  all  her  troubles  in  a  sort  of  mystical 
dream,  full  of  sweetness,  in  which  her  prayer 
had  gradually  blended,  and  life  now  ap- 
peared to  her  much  less  difficult,  and, 
above  all,  far  more  simple,  than  she  had 
found  it  for  a  long  time. 

The  day  dawned,  still  pale  and  grey ;  but 
the   sky,    covered  with  light    clouds,  promised 


A  NEW  EXPERIEN-CE.  211 

pleasant  weather.  The  young  girl  took  her 
way  to  the  hotel,  which  she  found  without 
difficulty. 

The  waiters  in  red  shirts  were  now  up,  the 
doer  was  open,  and  two  women,  in  rags,  with 
petticoats  tucked  up  in  their  belts,  were  wash- 
ing the  pavements  with  showers  of  water,  while 
displaying  their  stout  calves,  which  were  very 
dirty. 

In  the  midst  of  this  flood  Agnes  passed 
through  the  entrance  and  found  in  the  hall  a 
sort  of  clerk,  clothed  properly  enough,  who 
descended  the  stairs,  rubbing  his  eyes  with  a 
circular  movement  of  his  fists.  At  the  sight 
of  the  young  girl  he  stood  still,  his  hands 
fallen  at  his  sides. 

"  What  do  you  wish,  miss  ? "  said  he,  with 
a  sort  of  bow. 

.  "  I  want  to  have  my  trunk  brought  down, 
sir,"  replied  she. 

"  Your  trunk !  But  you  do  not  live 
here?" 


212  DO  SI  A' S  DAUGHTER. 

**  I  beg  your  pardon !  I  arrived  last  even- 
ing, and    my  trunk  is  upstairs." 

One  of  the  waiters  in  a  red  shirt  came  up 
just  then,  and  said,  roughly,  "  It  was  you, 
then,  who  went  out  this  morning  so  early,  and 
left  the  door  open?  Say,  you  mustn't  leave  the 
house  doors  open  "  — 

Agnes  looked  at  hin;  from  top  to  toe.  "  It 
was  you,  then,  who  promised  to  bring  me  some 
tea  last  night,  and  went  to  bed  instead  of  doing 
it?  It  was  you  who  took  me  to  a  disgusting 
room,  full  of  nasty  beetles  and  a  bed  with  no 
sheets?  It  was  you  who  slept  so  well  here 
that  one  could  unbar  the  door  and  go  out 
without  being   noticed  ?  " 

The  man  was  about  to  reply  coarsely,  but 
the  clerk  prevented  him.  Accustomed  to 
judge  people  by  their  looks,  he  felt  that  Agnes 
was  neither  an  adventuress  nor  a  vulgar  per- 
son. 

"  If  all  that  has  happened,  miss,"  said  he, 
"  we    owe    you    apologies.      Be    kind    enough 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  213 

to  say  what  you*  desire,  and  you  will  be 
obeyed  immediately." 

"  I  desire,"  replied  Agnes,  with  her  haughti- 
est manner,  "  to  have  my  trunk  brought  down 
at  once  and  put  upon  a  drojky,  and  to  know 
how  much  I  owe,  that  I  may  pay  you." 

Her  manner  showed  so  much  decision  that 
the  clerk  dared  not  oppose  her.  Her  trunk 
was  brought  down  and  put  upon  a  drojky,  and 
a  sheet  of  paper,  ornamented  with  a  magnifi- 
cent engraved  heading,  was  given  to  Agnes, 
showing  her  that  the  price  of  her  room  was  a 
rouble  and  a  half. 

"  It  is  expensive  here,"  said  she,  drawing  from 
her  purse  the  sum  demanded ;  "  but  one  would 
not  know  how  to  pay  for  such  good  service." 

The  cold  irony  of  her  words  so  stupefied 
the  servants  that  they  forgot  to  ask  for  pour 
boire,  —  a  thing  which  certainly  had  never 
happened  to  them  before. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  demanded  the 
driver. 


214  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

That  was  precisely  what  Agnes  did  not 
know;  suddenly  a  practical  idea  burst  on 
her  mind.  "  To  the  station  for  Petersburg," 
said  she. 

The  driver  was  young  and  skilful,  the  horse 
strong  and  steady;  in  twenty  minutes  Agnes 
was  at  the  station,  a  fine  building,  and  suited 
to  its  use.  The  trunk  was  taken  to  the  bag- 
gage-room, and  Agnes,  freed  from  a  great 
weight,  went  to  the  restaurant  for  breakfast, 
where  she  could  make  herself  comfortable  at 
her  leisure. 

It  is  something  to  get  out  of  trouble  so 
quickly,  and  all  alone,  and  the  young  girl 
was  disposed  to  feel  very  proud  of  herself. 

"  It  is  not  difficult,  after  all,"  said  she  to 
herself,  tasting  her  nice  coffee  and  that  delicious 
Moscow  bread,  called  "  Kalatch."  She  had  a 
good  appetite,  and  life  appeared  to  be  quite 
acceptable,  after  all,  in  spite  of  the  last  night's 
experience,  which  now  seemed  very  comical  to 
her.     But   if  the    present  was  supportable  the 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  215 

future  was  entirely  problematical.  It  would 
be  necessary  to  find  a  place  for  the  coming 
night,  and  Agnes  began  to  distrust  hotels. 

One  could  certainly  remain  one  night  in  the 
station,  where  the  ladies'  room  is  always  open, 
like  the  rest;  but  this  was  not  a  very  cheering 
prospect,  in  spite  of  the  nearness  of  the  dress- 
ing-room, which  would  allow  the  young  girl 
to  make  her  toilet. 

To  make  her  toilet  was,  by  the  way,  that 
which  she  most  desired  at  this  moment.  Her 
appetite  satisfied,  she  indulged  in  the  luxury 
of  ablutions,  and  went  out  from  the  ladies' 
waiting-room  entirely  reassured  for  the  present, 
and  even  disposed  to  see  the  future  through 
an  agreeable   coloring. 

How,  then,  to  find  a  situation  as  a  govern- 
ess? By  reading  the  newspapers.  Agnes 
knew  this ;  but  this  method  would  demand  time, 
and  more  or  less  correspondence.  However,  it 
would  be  better  to  lose  a  little  time  than 
to    find    nothing.       Agnes   bought   some    daily 


2l6  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

papers,  and  seated  herself  in  the  waiting-room 
to  read  carefully  the  fourth  page. 

Naturally  she  had  gone  into  the  room  of  the 
first  and  second  class,  having  no  idea  that  she 
could  go  elsewhere,  and  without  thinking  that 
she  might  be  recognized  by  some  one  of  her 
acquaintance.  While  she  read  the  "  Wanted  " 
attentively,  making  a  list  with  a  pencil  in  her 
note-book  of  those  that  she  thought  might 
suit  her,  an  old  lady  came  and  put  down  her 
bag  and  shawl-strap  on  a  table  near  Agnes. 
After  giving  a  bit  of  money  to  a  servant  who 
had  brought  her  valise,  she  turned  to  look 
about  her. 

"  Ania !  "  said  she,  with  astonishment. 

Agnes  heard  this  exclamation,  but  pretended 
that  she  had  not.  Besides,  not  exactly  recog- 
nizing the  voice  which  had  made  it,  she  could 
easily  excuse  herself  from  turning  a  deaf 
ear. 

"Ania,  Agnes,  Agnes  Sourof!  I  am  not 
mistaken :     it    is  you,   my   dear    child !      How 


A  NEW  EXPERIENCE.  21/ 

glad  I  am  to  see  you !  Your  father  is  here  ? 
No?  Your  mother  then?  And  your  little 
sister,  and  Mademoiselle  Titof?  Are  they  all 
well?  You  are  looking  finely.  So  much  color 
for  you,  who  are  usually  so  pale.  Do  you  go 
to  Petersburg?  We  shall  go  together.  Has 
your  mamma  taken  a  compartment?  " 

"  No,  madame,"  said  Agnes.  She  had  not 
hastened  to  reply,  for  the  questions  were  em- 
barrassing, and  had  she  wished  to  speak  she 
could  not,  on  account  of  the  marvellous  lo- 
quacity of  the  old  lady. 

"  No  compartment !  All  the  more  reason 
why  we  should  go  together.  Where  are  your 
things?  Put  them  with  mine;  or  perhaps 
they  are  already  in  the  car?" 

"  No,  madame,"  said  Agnes. 

"Is  that  so?  Where  is  your  mother?  Oh, 
in  the  dressing-room,  without  doubt.  After 
a  night  in  the  train  one  has  need  of  fresh 
water.  I  don't  understand  about  the  manage- 
ment of  railroads;  could  they  pot  manage  to 


2l8  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

have  a  little  less  smoke  ?  You  are  going 
to  town  early  this  year.  I  am  obliged  to 
go  to  Petersburg  on  business ;  but  I  return 
in  a  week;  so  I  shall  not  find  you  then.  I 
shall  miss  you." 

The  good  lady  talked  so  fast  that  it  was  not 
possible  to  put  in  a  word ;  the  danger  of  being 
obliged  to  speak  existed  only  when  she 
stopped  for  breath,  as  then  she  looked  up, 
waiting  for  a  reply. 

"  That  is  very  kind  of  you,"  said  Agnes, 
who  then  recognized  her  as  one  of  her  coun- 
try neighbors. 

"You  came  by  the  boat  to  Nijni?  I  came 
by  the  train;  it  is  tiresome,  and  so  dirty.  Do 
you  think  I  shall  have  time  to  go  and  wash 
my  hands  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Agnes,  who  knew  abso- 
lutely nothing  about  it. 

"  And  then  I  should  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  your  mamma  sooner.  I  will  go,  and 
you  will  look  out  for    my  bag." 


A  NEIV  EXPERIENCE.  219 

The  good  lady  rushed  out  of  the  room,  and 
Agnes  ran  after  her  with  the  bag  and  the 
shawl. 

"  Take  these,  madame,"  said  she ;  "  I  can- 
not undertake  to  watch  them ;  it  is  too  much 
responsibility." 

She  thought  of  Mademoiselle  Titofs  trunk, 
which  had  already  caused  her  so  much  care. 
Before  the  good  lady  had  recovered  from  her 
surprise  Agnes  had  disappeared,  and  when  the 
traveller  returned  to  the  waiting-room  she  was 
no  longer  there. 

During  the  journey  this  talkative  neighbor 
searched  the  compartments  and  the  waiting- 
rooms  ;  but  no  member  of  the  Sourof  family 
was  visible. 

Disturbed,  as  well  as  puzzled,  for  she  was 
kind-hearted,  the  very  day  after  her  arrival 
Madame  Savine  went  to  the  city  house  of 
Madame  Sourof,  and  there  learned  that  no 
member  of  the  family  was  in  town ;  neither 
had    they  announced    their  coming. 


220  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  It's  very  strange  !  "  thought  she.  "  Then 
it  was  not  Agnes.  But  I  could  not  have  been 
so  mistaken  !  Why  did  she  speak  —  the  foolish 
creature  !  —  if  it  were  not  she  ?  " 

And  her  inquisitive  mind  sought  the  solution 
of  this  problem  a  long  time  without  finding  it. 


SEEKING  A  SITUATION,  221 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

SEEKING   A   SITUATION. 

\  GNES  had  left  the  station  as  quickly  as 
-^  ^  possible,  and  hurried  down  the  first  side- 
street,  without  looking  behind  her,  fearing  pur- 
suit. After  what  she  had  endured  within  the 
last  twenty-four  hours  the  thought  of  returning 
home  was  more  unacceptable  than  ever  to  her, 
for  to  the  sense  of  her  guilt  was  added  that  of 
being  ridiculous,  and  she  dreaded  ridicule  above 
all  things.  Agnes  leaving  the  house  on  ac- 
count of  her  mother's  severity  towards  her,  — 
that  was  one  side  of  the  question.  Agnes  as 
the  victim  of  padlocks  and  bell-ropes,  of  a 
restive  horse  and  a  drunken  driver,  —  there  was 
material  to  delight  for  ten  years  all  who  were 
inclined  to  make  fun  of  her :  it  was  that  which 
she  could  not  endure. 

After  having  gone  some   hundred   yards   in 


222  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

the  unknown  street  which  she  had  entered  the 
fugitive  was  about  to  turn  towards  the  centre  of 
the  town,  when  she  saw  a  sign,  placed  on  a 
balcony,  which  read,  "  Home  FOR  Govern- 
esses." On  the  door  of  the  house  a  bright 
copper  plate  bore  the  same  inscription.  Agnes 
hesitated  an  instant,  looked  back  towards  the 
station,  then  before  her  in  the  direction  of  the 
town,  and  finally  entered  the  door-way.  On 
the  second  story  the  word  "  Home "  again 
appeared.  .  .  She  rang  boldly.  An  old 
servant-woman,  very  neat,  came  to  admit 
her. 

"The  Home  for  Governesses  ?"  asked  Agnes, 
in  a  less  assured  voice  than  she  would  have 
wished. 

"  Is  here,  miss,"  replied  the  servant. 

"  I  would  like  "  — 

Agnes's  voice  failed  her  completely,  and  for 
the  first  time  she  had  a  feeling  akin  to  humilia- 
tion. She  was  about  to  ask  for  something, 
and    should    they     refuse     what    she    asked  ! 


SEEKING  A   SITUATION.  223 

Her  pride  would  be  hardly  able  to  bear  that ! 
The  servant  had  understood. 

"  For  a  place,"  she  said.     "  This  way." 

Agnes  was  ushered  into  a  sort  of  office,  fur- 
nished with  an  oak-table  and  two  or  three 
chairs.  A  little  lady,  still  young,  seated  at 
the  table,  was  consulting  alternately  two  regis- 
ters opened  before  her.  On  seeing  the  young 
girl  she  rose  and  motioned  her  to  a  chair ;  then 
she  reseated  herself,  all  in  a  mechanical  fashion, 
as  if  her  principal  care  was  to  practise  economy 
in  time  and  in  movements. 

"You  desire  a  situation,  miss?"  said  the 
little  lady,  looking  at  her  visitor. 

"  Yes,  madame,  a  situation  as  governess." 

Agnes  had  never  imagined  that  this  sen- 
tence could  be  so  difficult  to  pronounce. 

"  Have  you  references,  a  diploma,  recom- 
mendations?" 

"just  now  I  have  only  my  passport,  mad- 
ame," replied  the  young  girl,  producing  that 
document.     "  It  will  inform  you  that  I  am  " — 


224  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

Agnes  had  such  a  noble  air,  offering  the 
paper  with  her  delicate,  well-gloved  hand,  that 
the  lady  was  inspired  with  respect.  She 
glanced  over  the  passport  with  an  experienced 
eye. 

"  How  long  were  you  in  the  same  house?" 

"  I  have  been  in  no  other." 

The  matron  mentally  compared  the  age  on 
the  passport  with  that  at  which  a  girl  would 
usually  seek  a  situation,  and  the  calculation 
seemed  to  satisfy  her. 

"And  what  was  the  cause  of  your  leaving?" 

*'  On  account  of  family  reasons,"  replied 
Agnes,  in  a  somewhat  aggressive  tone.  This 
examination  irritated  her  exceedingly ;  although 
her  good  sense  showed  her  how  necessary  it 
was,  she  could  not  submit  to  it  calmly.  The 
matron  of  the  Home  must  have  divined  some- 
thing of  her  feeling,  for  she  did  not  insist  on 
further  questions  on  this  point. 

"What  kind  of  a  situation  do  you  wish?" 
asked  she. 


SEEKING  A   SITUATION.  22$ 

"  I  should  like  to  teach  a  little  girl,  —  not 
too  little,  however,"  Agnes  added  hastily; 
"ten  or  twelve  years  old." 

"  What  are  you  competent  to  teach  ?  " 

"  Everything !  "  answered  Agnes.  Her  con- 
fidence was  so  naive  that  the  matron  smiled 
good-naturedly.  "  I  mean  to  say,"  continued 
the  young  girl,  "  everything  that  is  usually 
taught:   the  sciences,  languages "  — 

"  Including  German?  " 

"  French,  English,  and  German." 

"And  music?" 

"Music  —  and    painting   in   water-colors" — 

The  matron  felt  much  surprise  that  so  ca- 
pable a  person  had  no  recommendations;  but 
Agnes's  beauty  and  air  of  distinction  made 
her  suspect  some  little  romance,  very  proper, 
no  doubt.  Therefore  she  did  not  attempt  to 
know  more." 

"And  what  salary?" 

Agnes  was  puzzled.  She  was  absolutely 
ignorant   as  to  how   much   learning   like   hers 


226  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

could  command,  and  of  what  she  ought  to 
ask. 

Besides,  the  question  of  salary  seemed  to  her 
a  secondary  one,  and  almost  degrading. 

"  I  care  less  about  that,"  said  she,  "  than 
about  the  respectability  of  the  house  I  may 
enter." 

The  matron  was  entirely  satisfied.  She  ex- 
amined her  register  with  a  busy  countenance. 

"Here,"  said  she, —  "a  little  girl  of  eleven 
years,  a  slight  invalid ;  she  must  be  read  to ; 
you  could  not  go  out  at  all,  —  five  hundred 
roubles  a  year." 

"  No,  madame,"  replied  Agnes,  deliberately, 
*'  I  need  air  and  exercise ;  and,  besides,  I  hate 
to  read  aloud." 

The  woman  turned  to  another  leaf. 

"  In  the  provinces,  —  does  that  make  any 
difference  to  you  ?  Besides,  it  is  not  far  from 
here ;  only  an  hour  or  two  from  the  monastery 
of  St.  Serge  "  — 

Agnes  nodded  approvingly. 


SEEKING  A   SITUATION.  22/ 

**  A  little  girl,  twelve  years  old ;  sciences, 
French,  German,  and  music;  the  whole  year 
in  the  country;  four  hundred  roubles, — does 
that  suit  you  ?  " 

It  suited  Agnes  perfectly. 

"  But  it  is  immediately.  You  would  have  to 
arrange  to  start  this  very  day." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  answered  the  girl, 
reflecting  that  she  would  not  pass  the  night 
on  the  bench  in  the  waiting-room  at  the 
station. 

"  Then  you  may  go  to  this  address ;  you 
will  return  and  let  me  know  whether  you  are 
engaged.     Where  are  you  staying?  " 

"  I  have  just  arrived  from  the  province,  as 
you  see  by  the  passport ;  my  trunk  is  at  the 
railway  station  "  — 

"  Oh  I  well  I  if  not  engaged,  you  might 
return  here;  you  may  have  a  bed  and  board 
for  sixty  kopecks  a  day." 

This  was  consoling  and  almost  hospitable; 
but  Agnes  had  too  strong   a   desire   to  enter 


228  DOS/A 'S   DAUGHTER. 

upon  her  duties  not  to  accept,  no  matter  what 
situation,  rather  than  remain  inactive.  She 
felt,  also,  both  for  the  sake  of  her  relatives  and 
herself,  that  it  would  be  more  honorable  not 
to  take  advantage  of  the  low  rates  of  an  insti- 
tution, established  in  part,  at  least,  for  the  sake 
of  charity.  The  matron  rose  at  the  same  time 
with  Agnes ;  a  sort  of  misgiving  seemed  to 
come  to  her. 

"  I  regret  that  you  cannot  furnish  recom- 
mendations," said  she ;  "  you  appear  so  young, 
and,  in  spite  of  what  you  tell  me,  so  inex- 
perienced, that  I  should  have  wished  to  send 
you  to  a  better  place ;  but  without  references 
it  is  so  difficult —  Could  not  one  write  to 
these  people  with  whom  you  were,  —  to  the 
Sourofs  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  cried  Agnes;    "  not  that." 

"Why?  Did  you  leave  them  on  bad 
terms?" 

"  Very  bad,"  replied  the  young  girl,  turn- 
ing away,  her  eyes  suddenly  filled  with  tears. 


SEEKING  A  SITUATION.  229 

"I  am  sorry.  .  .  .  You  see  the  address 
which  I  have  given  you  is  that  of  a  very 
respectable  lady.  .  .  Oh !  there  is  nothing  to 
be  said  as  to  that,  but  of  a  rather  difficult 
temper  —  the  child,  especially." 

Agnes  raised  her  head  like  a  spirited  war- 
horse. 

"  That  does  not  frighten  me,"  said  she. 
"I  have  had  experience  with  difficult  tem- 
pers." 

"Then    I    wish   you  good  success,  miss." 

"  Thank  you,  madame ;  do  I  not  owe  you 
something?" 

"  No,"  said  the  matron ;  "  not  you.  Mad- 
ame Markof  will  give  me  a  little  money  for 
the  Home,  if  she  cares  to  do  so,  although 
she  is  not  obliged  to.  This  is  a  benevolent 
institution." 

With  a  rapid  movement  Agnes  opened 
her  purse  and  took  out  five  roubles,  which 
she  slipped  into  the  box  placed  on  the 
desk. 


230  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

*'  That  is  for  those  who  are  poorer  than 
I,"  said  she,  with  a  timid,  yet  proud,  smile. 

Her  eyes  met  those  of  the  matron,  who 
placed  her  hands  on  the  young  girl's  shoul- 
der. 

"  If  this  place  should  not  suit  you,  my 
child,  come  back  and  see  me,"  said  she ;  "  we 
will  find  you  something  else.  Take  our  ad- 
dress," —  she  handed  her  a  printed  card,  — 
"  and  accept  my  thanks  for  your  less  fortu- 
nate sisters." 

Agnes  bowed,  thanked  her,  went  out,  and 
found  herself  in  the  street,  greatly  astonished 
at  what  she  had  just  done. 

A  drojky  was  passing;  she  hailed  the 
driver,  and  was  again  jolted  along  over  the 
phenomenally  ill-paved  streets  of  the  good 
old  city  of  Moscow.  The  drujky  stopped 
before  a  hotel  in  all  respects  like  that  which 
had  sheltered  the  fugitive  during  a  few  hours 
of  the  preceding  night.  The  magnificent 
facade  presented  numerous  rows  of  windows ; 


SEEKING  A   SITUATION.  23 1 

there  were,  indeed,  so  many  that  the  smallest 
room  must  have  had  at  least  two,  so  that 
one  could  not  stretch  his  arms  without  touching 
the  window  panes.  The  broad,  high  staircase 
had  the  same  smell  of  fish-days'  cooking  and 
of  an  old  fur  which  one  has  slept  in;  but 
Agnes  was  not  allowed  to  continue  her  com- 
parison in  the  upper  stories,  for  on  the  second 
floor  she  was  introduced  into  a  very  shabby 
drawing-room,  where  a  lady  of  about  forty- 
five  was  taking  tea,  seated  on  an  extremely 
hard  sofa. 

Seeing  Agnes,  she  arose,  but  when  the  card 
from  the  matron  of  the  "Home"  was  pre- 
sented to  her  she  reseated  herself,  not  inviting 
the  young  girl  to  do  the  same. 

"  Is  it  you  who  wish  to  enter  my  service?  " 
asked  she. 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  Sit  down,"  then  said  Madame  Markof, 
and  she  immediately  began  a  formal  exami- 
nation   into    Agnes's   acquirements.    She    evi- 


232  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

dently  wished  to  find  in  her  some  fault ;  but 
this  was  not  easy,  thanks  to  Agnes's  pedantry, 
which  had  led  her  to  go  to  the  bottom 
of  things.  The  famous  passport  was  also 
produced,  and  no  recommendations  were  de- 
manded. If  Agnes  had  known  the  world 
better,  this  indulgence  would  have  caused  her 
some  disquiet,  but  she  only  congratulated 
herself  upon  it. 

"  You  please  me,"  said  Madame  Markof, 
at  last.  "  You  understand  the  terms :  four 
hundred  roubles  a  year;  payable  quarterly, 
and  no  vacations." 

"  I  understand  it,  madame,"  replied  Agnes. 

"  Then  we  will  start  this  evening  by  the 
five-o'clock  train.  Till  then,  if  you  have 
anything   to    do,  you    are    free." 

"  I  will  take  advantage  of  it,  madame," 
said  Agnes,  rising.  "  I  can  say  at  the 
'Home'    that   you    have    engaged    me?" 

"  Yes ;  besides,  I  shall  call  there  myself, 
later." 


SEEKING  A   SITUATION.  233 

"  Good-by,  madame,"  said  the  newly-made 
governess. 

"  Good-by,"  answered  Madame  Markof,  with- 
out stirring. 

**  You  are  ill-bred,"  thought  Agnes ;  "  but 
I  will   teach   you    manners ;    you    shall   see ! " 

"  She  is  very  pretty,  but  has  an  innocent 
look,"  said  the  other  to  herself;  "  I  shall  get 
the  best  of  her  without  much  trouble.  If  only 
Mittia  does  not  conceive  the  idea  of  falling 
desperately  in  love  with  her  —  Well !  I  would 
send  her  away!    She  would  not  be  the  first." 

In  the  afternoon  Madame  Markof  paid  a 
visit  to  the  "  Home,"  and  tendered  with  a 
satisfied  air  her  modest  contribution. 

When  she  had  gone  the  matron  remained 
perplexed.  "  It  is  curious,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. "  The  governess  has  given  to  our 
poor  girls  five  times  as  much  as  the  lady 
who  engaged  her.  Poor  thing!  she  will  have 
a   hard   time    of   it !  " 


234  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER, 


CHAPTER  IX. 


AT  SERVICE. 


^  I  ^HE  train  bearing  Madame  Markof  and 
•*-  the  young  governess  reached  St.  Serge 
at  that  delightful  hour  when,  although  it  is 
growing  dark,  prominent  objects  are  reflected 
in  strong  outlines  against  the  still,  clear  sky. 
Nothing  could  be  finer  than  the  silhouettes 
of  the  steeples  and  the  different  buildings  of 
the  noble  old  monastery  against  the  greenish- 
blue  of  the  firmament,  dotted  with  stars  at 
the  zenith. 

A  pleasant  smell  pervaded  the  ravine ;  a 
perfidious,  but  exquisite  freshness  rose  from 
the  woods,  wet  by  the  autumn  rains.  Agnes 
leaned  out  of  the  car-window  to  inhale  the 
perfume  of  the  dead  leaves. 

"  You    will     take     cold,"      cried     Madame 


AT  SERVICE.  235 

Markof.  "  Close  the  window,  miss.  I  have 
a  horror  of  draughts." 

"  As  for  me  I  adore  them ! "  Agnes  weis 
about  to  reply;  but  she  suddenly  remem- 
bered her  dependent  position  and  raised  the 
glass  without  a  word. 

The  train  stopped  Loaded  with  a  quantity 
of  small  parcels  which  Madame  Markof  had 
unceremoniously  placed  in  her  hands,  Agnes 
descended,  and  found  herself  in  the  arms,  so 
to  speak,  of  a  tall  young  man,  with  red 
whiskers,  who  bent  forward  a  very  small 
head  at  the  end  of  a  very  long  neck. 

"Wait,  take  this,  and  this,  and  this,  and 
the  basket.  Oh !  hold  on,  there  are  still 
the  rugs,  —  have  you  got  them?  That's 
all !  " 

Madame  Markof  advanced,  empty-handed, 
towards  a  heavy  calash  which  awaited  her  in 
a  corner  of  the  yard.  She  took  her  place 
and  arranged  her  innumerable  packages  in 
good  order.     After   which,  "  Well,    come,  get 


236  DO  SI  A' S   DAUGHTER. 

in !  "  said  she  to  Agnes,  who  was  wondering 
where  she  could  place  herself  without  sitting 
on  something. 

"Where?"  asked  the  young  girl,  very 
sedately.  Madame  Markof  looked  at  her  in 
astonishment;  then  perceived  that  it  was 
indeed  impossible  for  her  to  find  room  upon 
the  cushions.  Then  there  began  a  general 
upsetting;  all  the  parcels  were  shifted  about 
without  improving  the  situation. 

At  last,  by  dint  of  jamming  the  soft  ob- 
jects and  piling  up  the  hard  ones,  a  space 
about  three  inches  square  was  triumphantly 
pointed  out  to  Agnes.  Fortunately  she  was 
slender,  and  managed  to  install  herself  by 
secretly  pushing  back  some  of  the  harder 
packages  which  were  sticking  into  her  sides. 

"  I  wonder  what  she  is  carrying  that  has  so 
many  sharp  corners,"  thought  Agnes,  when 
the  tall  young  man  said,  piteously :  — 

"Well,  mamma,  and  I?" 

"  You  ?     Why,  beside  the  driver." 


AT  SERVICE.  237 

"  There  is  a  trunk,"  groaned  the  little  head 
at  the  end  of  the  long  neck. 

"A  trunk,  —  what  trunk?  I  didn't  bring 
any  trunk." 

"  It  is  mine,"  said  Agnes,  truly  cishamed  at 
having  such   an  inconvenient  trunk. 

"  Ah !  yes.  Well,  Mittia,  can't  you  put  it 
under  your  feet?" 

"Very  willingly  —  if  I  can,"  added  Mittia, 
prudently. 

He  made  the  attempt  with  very  good 
grace,  and  was  soon  perched,  with  his  chin 
on  his  knees,  in  a  position  as  impossible  to 
describe  as  to  preserve. 

"  All  right !  go  on,"  said  Madame  Markof  to 
the  driver,  who  had  not  stirred,  and  whose 
calm  was  something  surprising  in  the  midst 
of  all  this  bustle. 

He  was  quiet  because  he  was  very  deaf,  as 
Agnes  soon  perceived,  for  he  remained  as  in- 
different to  his  mistress's  order  as  to  the  fore- 
going clatter;  but  Mittia  touched  him,  he  shook 


238  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

the  reins,  and  the  vehicle  moved  off.  Then 
Madame  Markof  perceived  that  she  had 
omitted  a  formality,  and,  pointing  at  Mittia, 
perched  on  the  trunk  :  — 

"  He  is  my  son,"  cried  she,  in  Agnes's  ear, 
for  the  rattling  of  the  calash  necessitated  an 
unusual  diapason. 

Agnes  nodded  and  remained  silent ;  it  was 
the  best  she  could  do.  After  two  hours  and  a 
half  over  a  passable  road  the  calash  stopped 
before  a  low  house.  A  dirty  little  servant, 
wearing  a  sort  of  jacket  of  a  remarkably  light 
brown,  —  even  by  candle-light,  —  came  to  open 
the  carriage  door  and  let  down  the  step.  They 
had  some  trouble  in  releasing  Mittia,  who  was 
almost  anchylosed  upon  Mademoiselle  Titofs 
trunk,  and  the  packages  were  then  handed,  one 
by  one,  to  two  maids,  who  disposed  of  them 
with  incredible  celerity.  Meanwhile  Agnes 
waited  until  they  should  attend  to  her.  At 
last  Madame  Markof,  having  made  certain,  by 
two    investigations,    that   nothing  remained    in 


AT  SERVICE.  239 

the  calash,  ah'ghted,  and  requested  the  young 
girl  to  follow  her. 

They  entered  a  room,  quite  large,  but  very 
low-studded,  where  an  old  gentleman,  seated 
at  a  table,  was  reading  an  old  Russian  re- 
view, and  a  young  girl,  tall,  dark,  and  bony, 
was  preparing  tea. 

"What  do  you  think  I  have  brought  you?" 
asked  Madame  Markof,  in  a  bewitching  tone, 
as  if  about  to  announce  a  pleasant  surprise. 

"Some  little  cakes ?  "  asked  old  Markof. 

"  No !  a  new  governess !  "  and,  standing 
aside,   she    revealed   Agnes. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Miss  Seraphine,  disdainfully ; 
"  only  that !  " 

Agnes  felt  a  blush  rise  to  her  cheeks,  and, 
stepping  forward,  replied :  — 

"  I  hope,  mademoiselle,  that  before  long 
you  will  take  me  for  something." 

Seraphine,  who  was  by  no  means  an  angel, 
looked  askance  upon  her,  and  betook  herself 
again  to  her  teapot. 


240  nOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  Welcome,  miss,"  said  the  kindly  old  man. 
"  You  must  be  weary.  Sit  down ;  lay  aside 
your  cloak,  and  take  a  cup  of  tea." 

Agnes,  touched  by  this  gentleness,  obeyed 
in  silence,  and  sat  down,  near  the  old  gentle- 
man, in  the  place  he  had  indicated  to  her. 

"  Bless  me  !  how  pretty  she  is  !  "  said 
Mittia,  who  had  just  entered  the  room, 
half  out   loud. 

His  mother  made  a  warning  sign  to  him, 
and  his  sister  stuck  her  tongue  out  at  him, 
after  which  they  all  began  drinking  tea. 

While  Agnes  was  thoughtfully  going  through 
with  this  operation,  she  recalled  the  exact 
words  of  the  telegram  which  she  had  sent  to 
her  parents  before  starting :  — 

Dear    Parents,    found    good    situation    in    respectable 
house.     Do  not  be  anxious ;   I  shall  be  happy. 


AT  SOUROVA.  241 


CHAPTER   X. 


AT   SOUROVA. 


"XT  THEN  the  carriages  stopped  before  the 
~  *  porch,  on  the  return  from  the  dinner 
at  General  Baranine's,  Dosia  alighted  with 
some  haste.  Without  appearing  to  do  so 
she  had  reflected  a  great  deal  since  morn- 
ing, and  had  regretted  her  imprudent  man- 
ner towards  Agnes;  she  now  realized  how 
her  severity  must  have  chilled  the  young 
heart  whose  effort  at  submission  merited  a 
better  reception. 

Full  of  tenderness  and  forgiveness  she 
sought  her  daughter's  room ;  the  lamp  was 
burning  on  the  table  where  Agnes  had  left 
it;  there  were  no  signs  of  disorder  or  pre- 
cipitation, and  yet  something  chilled  Dosia's 
heart   as  she  entered. 


242  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

"Where  is  Miss  Agnes?"  asked  she  of 
the    maid    who    appeared. 

"  I  don't  know,  madame,"  replied  the  girl ; 
"  we  have  not  seen  her  since  dinner." 

Agnes  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  long 
walks  alone,  and  they  were  never  disturbed 
at  her  absence;  but,  at  this  hour — almost 
ten  o'clock  in  the  evening — it  was  strange 
that   she    should    not    be    in-doors. 

"  You  had  better  call  from  the  terrace," 
said  Madame  Sourof,  with  a  shade  of  anxi- 
ety. 

The  maid  left  the  room  hastily,  and  there 
soon  sounded  without,  the  blast  of  a  shep- 
herd's horn,  that  they  called  the  horn  of  Uri, 
brought  back  sometime  from  a  tour  in 
Switzerland,  and  which  was  used  when  they 
wished  to  collect  the  family,  scattered  in  the 
forest.  The  hoarse,  deep  sound  died  away 
in  the  light,  transparent  mist,  awaking  dis- 
tant echoes.  Dosia,  still  wearing  her  carriage 
cloak,    went    out    to    the    veranda,    her    ears 


AT  SOUROVA.  243 

intent  to  catch  the  cry,  the  customary  re- 
sponse to  this  summons;  in  the  deep  calm 
of  this  still  night  the  least  sound  must  reach 
very  far  from  the  terrace,  situated  high  above 
the  circling  woods. 

The  brook  warbled  in  the  glen  over 
the  pebbles  which  checked  its  way;  but  no 
other  sound  could  be  heard.  The  horn  of 
Uri  sounded  a  second  time,  so  loudly  that 
Dosia  quivered.  The  prolonged  call  went 
beyond  the  hills,  even  to  the  depths  of  the 
great  forest;  echoes  answered  from  all 
directions,  some  feeble  and  quite  near,  others 
distant  and  very  powerful ;  the  air  seemed  to 
quiver  for  some  time  after  the  sounds  had 
died  away.  All  the  family  had  silently 
gathered  around  Dosia,  except  the  father, 
who  had,  on  arriving,  gone  directly  to  his 
study.  They  said  nothing;  all  listened.  The 
whiteness  of  the  valley  seemed  sinister;  Er- 
mile  felt  suddenly  as  though  this  mist  was 
a   shroud.     The  horn  gave  yet  another  blast, 


244  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

SO  loud  that  Nicolas  thought  involuntarily  of 
the  horn  of  Roland,  broken  with  his  last  call. 

"  My  daughter !  "  murmured  Dosia,  press- 
ing a  nervous  hand  to  her  heart. 

Platon  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the 
drawing-room,  with  a  paper  in  his  hand. 

"Don't  wait,"  said  he;  "she  is  gone!  I 
hope  she  is  well  and  safe  somewhere." 

Without  speaking  a  word  they  went  into 
the  house  and  remained  standing  around  the 
father,  whose  face  expressed  grief  and 
sternness. 

"  She  tells  me  of  her  departure,"  said  he, 
gravely;  "she  means  well,  I  am  sure;  hef 
intentions  are  honorable,  but  —  but  she  did 
not  think  enough  of  the  grief  she  was  caus- 
ing us  "  — 

His  voice  was  broken,  as  he  pronounced 
these  last  words.  Dosia  threw  herself  sobbing 
on  her  husband's  breast. 

"It  is  my  fault,"  murmured  she,  in  a  low 
voice.     Platon   pressed  his  wife  firmly  against 


AT  SOUROVA.  245 

his  heart.  Vera  and  Nicolas  burst  into 
tears.  Ermile,  very  pale,  looked  fixedly 
before  him  without  seeing  anything.  He 
would  willingly  have  thrown  himself  at  the 
feet  of  her  parents,  and  said  also,  "  It  is  my 
fault !  " 

After  the  first  troubled  moments  they  sat 
down  to  take  counsel. 

Mademoiselle  Titof,  who  had  been  to  ex- 
amine the  fugitive's  room,  to  make  sure  that 
she  had  left  no  trace,  returned  in  confusion. 

"  I  cannot  find  my  passport,"  said  she. 

"  Then  I  understand,"  said  Platon.  "  Her 
plan  is  well  conceived,  and  proves  that  she 
was  complete  mistress  of  herself.  But  the 
precaution  that  she  has  taken  to  insure  her- 
self a  means  of  honorable  existence  is  ex- 
actly what  will  enable  us  to  find  her.  God 
be  praised,  my  dear  wife  !  Our  daughter  cer- 
tainly causes  us  great  grief,  but  she  gives  us 
no  cause  to  blush  for  her." 

"  She    must   be    sought    for    and    found    at 


246  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

once,"  cried  Nicolas.  "  With  her  passport 
that  cannot  be  difficult !  " 

"  She  must  be  found,  certainly,"  said  the 
father ;  "  but  I  don't  think  it  advisable  to  make 
her  come  back  against  her  will.  Let  her  learn 
a  little  of  life ;  it  will  be  an  excellent  lesson 
to  her;  for,  observe  it  well,  my  children,"  con- 
tinued he,  turning  towards  his  son  and  daugh- 
ter, "  we  are  now  more  disposed  to  pity  than 
to  blame  her,  but  she  is  very  guilty  and 
ought  to  suffer.  I  hope  that  fate  will  teach 
her,  and  that  she  will  return  to  us  more  sub- 
missive." 

They  dispersed  very  sadly,  and  Dosia  passed 
the  night  in  bitter  tears.  What  her  husband 
said  to  console  her,  or  to  take  upon  himself 
a  just  share  of  the  responsibihty,  has  remained 
a  secret  between  them;  but  she  certainly  re- 
ceived an  important  lesson  in  life,  for  in  the 
following  days  she  appeared  more  indulgent 
and  more  tender.  Vera  was  much  surprised 
at  it;   but,  as   she  was  a  good  and  intelligent 


AT  SOUROVA.  247 

child,  she  gave  her  heart  to  her  mother  more 
completely  than  she  had  ever  done  before. 
This  mother,  with  tear-stained  eyes,  who 
scarcely  ever  spoke  of  her  absent  daughter, 
but  evidently  thought  much  of  that  rebellious 
child,  became  very  dear  to  her,  and  the  little 
girl  felt  that  the  only  way  to  soothe  this 
terrible  wound,  always  bleeding,  was  to  assure 
Madame  Sourof  an  absolute  tranquillity  as  to 
the  future  of  her  other  daughter. 

Ermile  had  left  the  house  the  morning  fol- 
lowing the  fatal  day.  He  was  not  willing  that 
Agnes  should  find  him  there  in  open  dis- 
obedience to  her  command,  should  some  un- 
foreseen circumstance  bring  her  back  to  the 
fold.  His  sister  Marie,  seeing  him  so  gloomy 
and  troubled,  perceived  that  he  reproached 
himself  with  something.  With  a  little  strategy 
and  much  kindness  she  soon  gained  his  con- 
fidence, and  learned  with  surprise  the  decree 
passed  against  him,  and  the  submission  with 
which  he  had  accepted  it. 


248  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  You  consented  not  to  see  her  again  ! "  said 
she.  "Ah,  brother  !  you  were  very  wrong.  You 
should  have  replied :  *  Turn  your  back  upon 
me  when  I  enter,  if  you  wish  to ;  but  I  will  not 
renounce  my  dear  friends  simply  to  please 
you,  capricious  little  creature  !  " 

"  Marie,  perhaps  she  is  suffering "  — 

"  So  much  the  better !  It  will  teach  her 
not  to  cause  others  to  suffer !  "  replied  the 
good  girl,  with  her  customary  sense.  "  You 
will  see  what  good  it  will  bring  her ! " 

"What  do  you  advise  me  to  do?"  asked 
Ermile,  a  little  confused. 

"To  keep  quiet." 

"No!     I  can't  do  that." 

Marie  looked  full  into  her  brother's  eyes ; 
then  placing  her  hands  on  his  shoulders, 
"  You  want  to  go  and  look  for  her,"  said 
she,  with  an  indulgent  smile ;  "  well,  go ! 
Search,  ransack,  turn  heaven  and  earth,  find 
her,  —  and  when  you  have  found  her  she  will 
again  send  you  about  your  business,  unless  "  — 


AT  SOUROVA.  249 

"Unless  what?" 

"  Unless  she  falls  upon  your  neck,  for  she 
has  the  best  heart  in  the  world !  "  concluded 
Marie.  "  Come,  make  haste,  brother ;  for 
you  see  I  have  more  confidence  in  the  scent 
of  a  lover  than  in  all  the  police  in  the 
world,  and  I  long  to  know  that  she  is  back 
at  Sourova,  until  she  will  come  here,  where 
I  will  receive  her  as  a  beloved  sister." 

"  Ah  !  "  sighed  Ermile,  "  we  have  not  come 
to  that  yet !  When  I  think  of  all  that  might 
happen  to  her  "  — 

"  To  her !  You  don't  know  her !  Unless 
a  chimney  falls  upon  her  some  windy  day 
I  assure  you  that  no  harm  will  be  able  to 
reach  her.  She  is  a  young  person  who 
knows  what  she  is  about,  although  she  does 
not  always  know  what  she  wishes.  When  I 
think  of  her  stealing  worthy  Mademoiselle 
Titof's  passport — and  perhaps  her  trunk!  — 
I  would  undergo  a  good  deal  to  see  her  in 
Mademoiselle    Titofs     dresses,    teaching     the 


250  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

history  of  Russia  to   a  little    brat,  —  it  would 
be  such  fun  !  " 

Marie  burst  out  laughing,  wiping  her  eyes, 
and  Ermile  went  to  prepare  for  his  depart- 
ure. 

Platon  had  gone  to  Moscow  the  very  next 
day,  and  there  had  set  in  motion  everything 
necessary  to  discover  the  fugitive ;  but  the 
peculiar  circumstances  which  prevented  the 
name  of  Agnes's  passport  from  appearing  on 
the  hotel  register  paralyzed  all  search.  It 
would  have  been  otherwise  had  she  not  left 
Moscow ;  as  things  actually  were,  search  was 
almost  impossible. 

Agnes's  telegram  was  received  with  great 
joy  by  all  the  family.  It  was  then  true? 
She  wished  to  become  familiar  with  a  life  of 
labor?  Her  love  for  her  parents  had  not 
been  lessened  by  the  test? 

"  O  God !  "  thought  Dosia,  wiping  away 
tears  less  bitter  than  any  she  had  shed  since 
her  daughter's  departure,   "  if  she    would    but 


AT  SOUROVA.  251 

return  !  I  should  know  how  to  teach  the  dear 
child  her  duty  without  wounding  her  sensitive 
heart.  It  will  be  a  hard  lesson  for  her,  but 
certainly  more  so  for  me !  " 

The  customary  routine  of  life  at  Sourova 
had  been  resumed.  Mademoiselle  Titof  had 
abandoned  the  thought  of  her  journey  to 
Moscow  until  the  passport  should  be  returned 
to  her.  When  she  went  to  find  her  trunk, 
still  at  the  station,  as  she  supposed,  she 
learned  that  it  had  taken  the  road  to  Nijni 
Novgorod  with  its  pseudo-proprietor, 

"  How  well  managed  !  "  cried  that  excel- 
lent person.  "  What  a  pity  that  I  had  not 
placed  in  it  my  best  clothes  ! "  and  she  again 
betook  herself  to  initiating  Vera  into  the 
mysteries  of  orthography. 


252  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER, 

CHAPTER   XI. 

TEACHING    OF    EVERY    KIND. 

\  GNES  had  not  paused  a  moment  to  con- 
■^  ^  sider  the  unpleasant  side  of  her  under- 
taking; she  had,  as  they  say,  taken  the  bull 
by  the  horns.  The  day  after  her  arrival  at  the 
Markofs  she  made  a  thorough  examination 
of  Seraphine,  who,  in  spite  of  her  evident  dis- 
inclination, was  obliged  to  answer  the  questions, 
and  thus  showed  that  she  knew  almost  nothing. 

"There  is  no  merit,"  Agnes  told  herself,  "  in 
educating  an  amiable  and  intelligent  girl ; 
with  this  pupil  I  shall  be  able  to  show  that  I 
have  the  patience  as  well  as  the  faculties 
necessary  to  a   pedagogue." 

A  Russian  proverb  says  that  "  a  new  broom 
always  sweeps  best."  This  irreverent  compari- 
son is  as  apt  for  the  scholars  as  for  teachers. 
Seraphine's  broom  was  not  especially  supple ; 


.# 


TEACHING   OF  EVERY  KIND.  253 

however,  it  swept  her  young  brain  quite  well 
during  five  or  six  days ;  and  the  new  govern- 
ess was  able  to  use  her  own  little  brush  in 
carefully  dusting  the  newly-sharpened  facets 
of  her  knowledge,  so  that  they  glistened  like 
diamonds. 

The  lessons  were  held  in  a  school-room,  as 
scantily  furnished  as  a  room  used  only  for 
study  could  be.  It  was  cold  and  damp.  Agnes 
felt  her  aristocratic  feet,  accustomed  to  rest  on 
carpets,  —  or  at  least  mattings,  —  grow  cold  at 
the  contact  with  a  rough  wooden  floor,  care- 
lessly washed  by  the  servants,  and  left  to  itself 
to  dry,  which  it,  by  no  means,  succeeded  in 
doing. 

The  food  especially  caused  the  young  girl 
unspeakable  surprise.  The  day  after  her  arri- 
val being  Sunday,  she  attributed  the  scanty 
lunch  to  an  estimable  piety,  which  did  not 
compel  the  servants  to  work  during  the  hours 
for  services.  The  dinner  consisted  of  a  soup, 
mainly  hot  water  and  half-melted  fat;    then  a 


254  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

prodigious  roast  of  beef,  so  large  that  Agnes 
could  not  repress  an  exclamation. 

"  Ah  !  you  didn't  have  any  like  that  with  the 
Sourofs?"  said  Madame  Markof,  triumphantly. 

Agnes  frowned ;  but,  soon  recollecting  that 
she  was  not  now  the  daughter  of  Colonel 
Platon,  she  replied,  with  a  more  engaging  air, 
"  I  confess  it.  The  meat  was  very  good  ;  but 
the  roasts  were  not  as  large." 

Madame  Markof  buried  a  great  knife  in  the 
mountain  of  bleeding  meat  with  the  gesture  of 
a  sacrificing  priest.  The  juice  ran  into  the 
platter,  and  the  victim  was  deprived  of  several 
slices  too  enormous  to  be  appetizing.  How- 
ever, the  meat  was  good,  and  Agnes  reconciled 
herself  to  the  roast  beef,  especially  on  seeing 
some  fine,  savory  potatoes  brought  in,  still 
clothed  with  floury  coats,  which  attested  their 
excellent  quality. 

"We  live  in  the  English  style  here,"  said 
Madame  Markof,  "and  it  suits  us  very  well." 

A   pretentious    and    not  very   good   dessert 


TEACHING   OF  EVERY  KIND.  255 

\ 

terminated  the  feast,  with  which  A^nes  found 
herself  tolerably  well  satisfied.  It  was  not  the 
delicate  fare  of  her  home,  but  it  was  some- 
thing to  live  upon ;  and  the  young  girl  ac- 
cepted all  the  accidents  of  the  existence  which 
she  had  voluntarily  chosen. 

The  next  day,  at  lunch,  she  sajv  upon  the 
table  the  roast  of  the  night  before,  which  the 
breach  made  by  the  dinner  did  not  appear  to 
have  perceptibly  diminished.  The  same  knife 
was  plunged  into  the  same  meat,  equally  large 
slices  were  distributed,  the  potatoes  again 
appeared,  and  all  was  ended,  —  without  dessert 
this  time. 

Agnes  did  not  dislike  cold  meat;  she  also 
approved  of  this  system  of  domestic  economy, 
especially  as,  after  two  successive  appearances, 
the  roast  must  probably  pass  on  to  the 
kitchen,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  servants. 
But  at  dinner-time  the  roast  beef  was  again 
upon  the  table,  where  it  would  seem  it  had 
chosen  to  reside ;  only  the  platter  was  smaller. 


256  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

The  next  day  at  lunch,  and  at  dinner,  it  still 
remained,  although  very  much  attenuated  ;  the 
next  morning,  which  was  Wednesday,  there 
remained  only  a  very  small,  dry  piece ;  and, 
as  they  did  not  receive  it  very  cordially,  the 
little  piece  reappeared  almost  intact  at  dinner. 
That  day  Agnes  ate  only  potatoes,  for  the 
greasy,  tasteless  soup  made  her  sick  at  her 
stomach. 

The  following  morning  there  was  nothing 
on  the  table  at  the  hour  for  lunch.  Madame 
Markof  entered  in  morning  wrapper  and 
slippers.  "  The  meat  has  not  arrived,"  said 
she ;  "  we  shall  have  to  lunch  upon  the  oat- 
meal, but  it  doesn't  matter  for  once  only." 

A  great  dish  of  oatmeal  was  brought,  to- 
gether with  a  bowl  of  milk.  Agnes  did  not 
care  much  for  oatmeal,  except  that  it  was 
better  than  cold  roast  for  four  entire  days. 

"  At  any  rate,"  sighed  she,  "  we  shall  have 
something  new  this  evening !  "  She  was  not 
an   epicure,  and  at  home  was  the  very  last  to 


TEACHING   OF  EVERY  KIND.  257 

trouble  herself  as  to  what  constituted  the  fare ; 
but  the  uniform  diet  which  had  existed  since 
her  entrance  into  this  house  inspired  her 
with  some  curiosity  as  to  the  probable  bill 
of  fare  for  this  day. 

After  the  soup  had  been  removed  the 
servant  entered,  bending  beneath  the  weight 
of  an  enormous  dish,  which  Agnes  at  once 
recognized;  he  approached,  staggering,  and 
deposited  upon  the  table  a  magnificent  roast  of 
beef,  so  entirely  resembling  its  predecessor  that 
Agnes  had  to  call  on  her  memory  in  order  to 
be  sure  that  she  was  not  dreaming,  and  that 
the  day  was  really  Thursday,  not  Sunday. 

The  potatoes  entered,  large  and  smoking, 
in  a  deep  dish,  and  her  three  table  companions 
expressed  an  unequivocal  delight  at  the  sight 
of  this  substantial  repast. 

When  one  has  eaten  cold  roast  for  three 
days,  hot  roast  has  certainly  some  chance  of 
success  on  the  fourth.  But,  on  leaving  the 
table,  Agnes  felt  a  desire  to  improve  her  knowl- 


258  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

edge.  She  was  a  person  of  very  orderly  mind, 
and  loved  to  lay  foundations  for  the  future. 

"  Do  you  often  eat  roast  beef? "  she  asked 
her  young  pupil. 

Seraphine  looked  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"What!  what  did  you  ask  me?"  replied 
she,  as  though  she  had  not  understood. 

"  I  asked  if  you  often  eat  roast  beef." 

"  Why  —  always,"  was  the  answer,  with  an 
amazed  air. 

"Always?  The  whole  year?"  exclaimed 
Agnes,  no  less  astonished. 

"  Why,  certainly." 

"  Warm  twice  a  week,  and  cold  the  rest  of 
the  time?" 

"  Naturally  !  What  did  you  eat,  then,  where 
you  used  to  be?  " 

"  A  great  many  good  things,  of  which  you 
will  never  have  an  idea,"  replied  Agnes,  com- 
posedly. Seraphine  looked  askance  at  her, 
then  turned  away.  Up  to  that  time  they  had 
been  upon  a  footing  of  armed  neutrality ;  from 


TEACHING   OF  EVERY  KIND.  259 

that  day  it  was  open  war ;  the  second  roast  beef 
of  the  week  had  been  the  signal  for  hostilities. 

The  next  day  Seraphine  did  not  know  her 
lessons,  which  was  not  extraordinary;  but  she 
gave  evidences  of  an  ill-humor  which  Agnes 
had  not  seen  before.  The  little  girl's  state  of 
mind  showed  itself  in  a  cross  indifference  to 
everything  which  did  not  contribute  to  her 
immediate  pleasure. 

"You  must  learn  your  lesson  in  play-hours," 
said  the  young  governess. 

"  I  ?  —  that  has  never  happened  !  Find  some 
other  way,  miss,"  answered  the  rebellious 
pupil.  Agnes  was  about  to  reply  sharply, 
when  her  malicious  memory  caused  her  to 
blush.  Had  she  not  formerly  made  an  exactly 
similar  response  to  the  governess  who  pre- 
ceded Mademoiselle  Titof  in  their  house,  — 
a  poor  girl,  who,  tired  out,  had  given  it  up, 
not  feeling  strong  enough  to  cope  with  so 
formidable   an  antagonist? 

"  I    have   well  deserved  it,"  thought  Agnes. 


26o  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

However,  as  power  must  remain  with  authority, 
Agnes  went  to  ask  Madame  Markof  what  she 
should  do  when  Seraphine  did  not  know  hef 
lessons. 

"  But,  miss,  that  is  your  affair !  It  is  pre- 
cisely to  relieve  myself  of  that  trouble  that 
I  employ  you." 

"But,  madame,  Seraphine  will  not  admit 
that  she  is  to  learn  during  play-hours  the 
lessons  which  she  has  not  prepared  in  the 
school-time." 

"  Well,  the  child  is  right !  She  must  have 
her  recreation !  " 

Agnes  returned  to  her  room  to  try  and 
fathom  the  situation,  which  seemed  deep  in- 
deed. Her  apartment  was  as  cold  and  damp 
as  the  school-room ;  she  left  it  and  went  to 
the  drawing-room,  which  was  quite  well  heated, 
and  sat  down  close  to  a  window,  taking  up  a 
book  as  a  pretext. 

In  a  few  minutes  her  attention  was  attracted 
by  a  sort  of  sigh  or  moan.     Thinking  that  a 


TEACHING   OF  EVERY  KIND.  26 1 

dog  had  found  its  way  into  the  house,  and 
foreseeing  trouble  for  the  poor  thing  when 
discovered  by  Madame  Markof,  Agnes  bent 
down  and  looked  under  the  lounge,  the  chairs, 
and  the  table,  as  its  short  cloth  left  its  legs 
visible;     but  no  quadruped  was  to  be  seen. 

Thinking  she  had  been  mistaken,  she  re- 
turned again  to  her  book,  or  rather  to  her 
meditations ;  but  a  second  piteously  modulated 
sigh  caused  her  a  second  time  to  raise  her 
head. 

She  then  saw,  opposite  her,  stretched  in 
an  arm-chair,  the  ill-shaped  figure  of  Mittia, 
whose  protruding  eyes  contemplated  her  with 
a  gaze  of  ecstasy.  Agnes  turned  away  her 
face  impatiently.  She  had  previously  noticed 
the  young  man's  marked  attention,  and  was 
not  pleased  by  it,  but  she  trusted  that  he 
would  be  polite  enough  not  to  become  trouble- 
some. The  two  sighs  which  she  had  just 
heard  deprived  her  of  this  hope.  Despair- 
ing of  finding  in  the  drawing-room  the  peace 


262  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

which    she     sought,    Agnes    rose   to  return  to 
her  own  room. 

"  O  miss,  don't  run  away  from  me !  " 
murmured  young  Mittia's  mournful  voice. 

Agnes  turned  around  suddenly,  thoroughly 
angry.  "Run  away  fi'om  you,  sir?"  said  she. 
"  In  order  to  do  that  I  should  first  be  obliged 
to  notice  that  you  were  present !  " 

"  Oh-o-oh ! "  drawled  the  unhappy  young 
man ;  "  you  are  as  cruel  as  you  are  beau- 
tiful." 

Agnes  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  advanced 
towards  the  door.  All  at  once  Mittia  leaped 
from  his  chair  with  a  rapidity  which  one  would 
not  have  anticipated  from  his  languid  voice. 

"  Miss,"  said  he,  extending  his  arms  so  as 
to  bar  her  way,  "  you  must  listen  to  me." 

His  prominent  eyes,  his  little  mouth,  and 
thin,  red  whiskers  gave  him  a  puppet-like 
appearance,  rendered  all  the  more  absurd 
by  his  ridiculous  gestures,  Agnes  would  have 
laughed  had  she  not  been  very  angry. 


TEACHING   OF  EVERY  KTND.  263 

"  You  are  unhappy  here,  miss,"  continued 
Mittia,  rolling  up  his  eyeballs  despairingly ; 
"you  don't  eat;  you  don't  like  cold  roast 
beef,  —  oh !  I  have  seen  it.  I  observe 
everything  you  do.  My  sister  is  a  dunce, 
and  my  mother  has  just  treated  you  un- 
kindly." 

*'  Sir !  "  interrupted  Agnes,  provoked. 

"Don't  get  angry,"  replied  he,  with  an  en- 
treating gesture,  and  an  infinite  gentleness  in 
his  voice.  "  You  will  find  out  many  other 
things.  It  always  commences  well  enough 
here,  but  it  always  ends  badly." 

"Badly?  What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Ag- 
nes, somewhat  frightened,  in  spite  of  her 
courage. 

"  They  go  away,"  sighed  the  unfortunate 
youth.  "  They  all  go  away,  and  abandon  rne 
to  my  bitter  and  desolate  solitude." 

"  He  must  have  something  the  matter  with 
his  brain,"  thought  Agnes,  with  a  strong 
inclination  to  laugh. 


264  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

Madame  Markof's  morning-dress  appeared 
in  the  corridor,  but  hid  itself  behind  a  ward- 
robe. 

"  The  truth  is,  that  the  house  is  not  cheer- 
ful," continued  Mittia,  in  a  less  poetic  tone. 
"  But,  if  you  wished,  one  could  manage  not 
to  have  it  too  tedious.  A  walk  in  the  moon- 
light, —  do  you  like  moonlight  walks  ?  " 

"  I  should  not  like  them  in  your  com- 
pany," said  Agnes,  disdainfully. 

"  Oh !  I  ?  Never !  It  gives  me  the  tooth- 
ache to  walk  out  at  night,  except  in  summer 
when  it  is  very  warm,  and  the  season  is  gone 
by  for  this  year.  But  there  are  a  thousand 
ways    of  meeting  —     Miss,   I    love   you  !  "  — 

"  And  I  don't  love  you,"  replied  Agnes. 
"Will  you  allow  me  to  pass,  if  you  please?" 

"  You  must  pay  toll !  "  said  Mittia,  open- 
ing his  arms  wider  and  extending  his  cheek, 
probably  with  the  intention  of  receiving  a 
kiss. 

*'  What  strange  governesses  they  must  have 


TEACHING   OF  EVERY  KIND,  265 

had  here !  "  thought  the  young  girl.  But  she 
had  no  desire  to  quarrel  with  this  half-witted 
creature,  whose  brain  must  have  been  sub- 
jected to  some  serious  shock.  Instead  of 
parleying  she  stooped  quickly,  passed  under 
his  outstretched  arms,  and  found  herself  out- 
side the  door. 

"  Oh  !  how  clever  you  are  !  "  cried  Mittia, 
delighted.  "  It  is  a  pleasure  to  deal  with 
one  so  spirited !    But  I  will  catch  you ! " 

Madame  Markof's  morning-dress  made  a 
retreat,  and  Agnes  was  certain  that  the 
worthy   mother   had    seen    all. 

"  What  a  mother ! "  thought  she,  with  an 
invincible  disgust.  "  The  son  is  only  a  sim- 
pleton; but  the  woman  who  allows  such 
things  in  her  house  "  — 

A  strong  desire  to  leave  this  house  had 
suddenly  taken  possession  of  her;  if  she  had 
followed  her  inclination  she  would  have  at 
once  demanded  her  passport,  which  Madame 
Markof  had  taken  from  her,  and   horses   with 


266  DOSJA'S   DAUGHTER. 

which  to  reach  St.  Serge.  But  a  little  reflec- 
tion showed  her  that  this  summary  proeeed- 
ing  after  only  eight  days  would  make  it 
difficult  for  her  to  get  a  new  situation,  should 
inquiries  be  made.  Besides,  was  it  not 
necessary  to  learn  life?  These  people  were 
ridiculous  and  despicable,  but  they  did  not 
seem  wicked.  In  case  of  need  she  would 
address  herself  to  the  father,  always  absent 
watching  his  crops,  who  only  returned  in 
time  for  meals ;  he  at  least  was  gentle  and 
good,  and  would,  if  necessary,  protect  her. 

In  the  school-room  Agnes  again  found  Sera- 
phine,  who  did  not  seem  to  have  nursed  any 
animosity  on  account  of  the  scene  in  the 
morning.  The  young  governess  knew  that  it 
was  good  policy  not  to  revive  dangerous 
remembrances,  and  assumed  a  quiet  face. 

"  We  will  have  a  good  exercise  in  dictation, 
Seraphine,"  she  said  to  her.  The  little  girl 
shook  her  head  with  an  important  air,  bal- 
ancing herself  on  the  hind  legs   of  her  chair, 


TEACHING   OF  EVERY  KIND.  267 

in  a  way  to  cause  anxiety  for  her  equilib- 
rium. 

"  I  don't  do  any  work  to-day,"  she  said. 
"  Mamma  has  given   me  a  holiday !  " 

"A  hohday!  In  honor  of  what  saint?" 
asked  Agnes,  somewhat  surprised. 

"  There  is  no  saint  in  the  matter.  I  have  a 
holiday  because  I  asked  for  it." 

"  That  cannot  be  !  " 

"  Ask  mamma,  then  !  "  replied  Seraphine, 
balancing  herself  so  as  to  make  Agnes  dizzy. 
It  was,  indeed,  necessary  to  do  so.  The  young 
girl  went  to  Madame  Markof,  who  confirmed 
what  her  child  said. 

"  It  is  exactly  so,  mademoiselle.  I  granted 
it  because  she  asked  it.  But  that  displeases 
me  greatly,  and  I  beg  you  henceforth  to 
manage  so  that  it  may  not  occur  again." 

"  Pardon,  madame,"  said  Agnes ;  "  I  hardly 
understand  you.  What  do  you  wish  me  to 
do?" 

"  I  wish  you  to  prevent  my  daughter  from 


268  DOS/A 'S    DAUGHTER. 

asking  me  for  holidays.  It  interferes  with 
her  studies,  and  does  her  no  good." 

"  In  that  case,  madame,  if  you  would  con- 
sent to  refuse  her  request." 

"  Not  at  all,  miss.  Every  time  she  asks 
me  I  shall  grant  it  her.  There  is  nothing 
in  the  world  worse  than  to  hear  a  child 
tease  you  for  hours;  and  Seraphine  is 
very  persistent.  When  once  she  has  taken 
a  thing  into  her  head  one  can't  turn  her 
from  it.  Therefore,  I  find  it  much  better  to 
yield  at  once,  you  know." 

"  I  realize  that  it  annoys  you,  madame," 
answered  Agnes,  making  an  effort  to  keep 
her  countenance  in  the  face  of  this  odd 
reasoning.  "  But  I  don't  see  exactly  what 
you    want    me  to  do." 

"Why!  you  don't  understand?  I  thought 
you  were  clever ;  you  look  it !  I  wish  you 
to  prevent   my  daughter    from  asking  me  "  — 

"  What  she  is  sure  of  obtaining  when  she 
asks?" 


TEACHING   OF  EVERY  KIND.  269 

Madame  Markof  remained  a  moment  con- 
fused. "  In  short,"  replied  she,  impatiently, 
"  manage  to  do  what  I  tell  you.  I  have  en- 
trusted you  with  authority;  it  is  for  you  to 
show  yourself  worthy  of  it  1 " 

Upon  that  she  left  the  room  with  the  air 
of  an  empress. 

Agnes  returned  to  the  school-room  in  a 
very  troubled  state  of  mind.  Her  reason  re- 
fused to  admit  the  absurdity  of  Madame 
Markof's  proposition.  She  preferred  to  believe 
in  a  lack  of  attention  on  her  own  part  rather 
than  in  such  utter  nonsense. 

"  She  did  not  explain  herself  clearly," 
thought  the  girl,  "  We  shall  understand  each 
other  better  by  and  by." 

Seraphine  grew  weary  of  being  idle ;  the 
rain  beat  against  the  windows,  forbidding  all 
thoughts  of  a  walk.  Agnes  thought  it  a  favor- 
able opportunity  to  try  an  attractive  system 
of  instruction  which  she  had  been  meditating; 
and,  thanks  to  the   child's  want  of  something 


270  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

to  do,  she  succeeded  in  occupying  her  for 
a  couple  of  hours,  winning  her  point  while 
seeming  to  play  with  her.  Seraphine,  who 
was  not  a  fool,  understood  all  the  ad- 
vantage to  be  gained  from  so  entertaining  an 
instructress,  and,  at  the  close  of  the  day,  peace 
and  harmony  again  reigned  in  the  school- 
room. 

"  Were  it  not  for  that  imbecile  Mittia," 
thought  Agnes,  "  I  am  sure  one  could  make 
an  interesting  experiment  here.  Bah  I  per- 
haps even  he  can  at  last  be  muzzled  !  " 

Happy  privilege  of  youth  !  A  ray  of  sun 
is  seen,  and  the  storm  is  forgotten.  Agnes 
went  to  sleep  that  evening  in  an  excellent 
frame  of  mind,  although  the  cold  roast  beef 
had  again  appeared  at  dinner. 


A  NEW  EXPERIMENT.  2/1 

CHAPTER  XII. 

A  NEW  EXPERIMENT. 

I  AOGS  are  muzzled,  also  bears ;  but  how 
■^-^  muzzle  a  calfs-head,  boneless,  and 
cooked  to  a  turn?  Mittia's  character,  as  well 
as  his  person,  was  so  mucilaginous  that  one 
could  give  it  no  form  nor  impose  upon 
it  any  restraint.  His  sighs,  less  harmonious 
but  as  confused  as  the  sounds  of  an  aeolian 
harp,  pursued  Agnes  in  all  parts  of  the  house. 
It  was  in  vain  that  she  attached  no  impor- 
tance to  it;  this  plaint,  like  the  whinings  of 
a  puppy,  wearied  Agnes  exceedingly.  The 
young  man's  glances  amused  her  no  more; 
she  had  tried  in  vain  to  laugh  at  the  matter; 
her  realization  of  the  baseness  of  Madame 
Markof,  who  allowed  it,  because  it  was  a  pas- 
time for  her  son,  took  away  all  her  amusement 
at  this  ridiculous  incident. 


2/2  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

Fine  weather  had  returned  out  of  doors, 
with  warm,  clear  days ;  but  within  the  Markof 
mansion  the  barometer  seemed  to  indicate  a 
storm.  Agnes  had  sought  in  vain  for  a  little 
moral  support  from  the  elder  Markof;  she 
soon  perceived  that  the  worthy  man  had  long 
since  abdicated,  "  for  the  sake  of  peace." 
Madame  Markof  had  replied  to  a  slight  allu- 
sion from  Agnes,  that  it  was  of  the  first 
importance  to  a  young  girl  not  to  be  prudish. 
Besides,  from  her  point  of  view,  the  most 
desirable  trait  in  a  person  was  always  that  for 
which  they  had  need  at  the  moment. 

Seraphine  had  enjoyed  the  attractive  work 
for  several  days,  but  became  tired  of  it,  as 
of  all  else;  for  she  hated  every  exertion,  even 
were  it  to  procure  herself  a  pleasure.  The 
fifth  roast  of  beef  had  appeared  on  the  family 
table.  Agnes  reckoned  the  time  by  roasts  of 
beef,  which  made  it  now  fifteen  whole  days 
that  she  had  spent  in  this  original  household. 
Either  owing  to  the  influence  of  cold  meat,  or 


A  NEW  EXPERIMENT.  273 

♦ 

to  that  of  the  sirocco,  Agnes  was  nervous 
that  day,  and  Seraphine  not  less  so. 

"  Miss,  I  love  you  !  "  Mittia  had  murmured, 
in  the  morning,  while  taking  his  coffee.  "  I 
love  you  more  than  ever !  If  you  will  con- 
sent, we  will  fly  together !  You  have  a  family? 
Let  us  go  to  them  !  We  will  marry,  and  shall 
be  far  better  off  than  here." 

Oh  !  yes,  it  was  far  better  at  Sourova  !  That 
was  certain!  Agnes  thought,  with  unspeak- 
able regret,  of  the  autumn-tinted  forest;  of  the 
rippling  brook,  of  the  fragrant  terrace,  which 
the  early  frosts  respected,  so  warm  and 
sheltered  was  the  situation.  She  thought 
of  the  grand  piano,  formerly  touched  by  her 
agile  fingers;  of  Vera,  who  must  find  it  dull; 
of  Mademoiselle  Titof,  who  had  not  been 
able  to  visit  her  uncle  for  want  of  a  passport; 
of  her  mother,  — 

Her  mother !  She  dared  not  think  of  her  ! 
She  recoiled  before  the  dear  remembrance, 
which    was   now   a  remorse.       She    felt    con- 


274  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

fusedly  that  her  father,  however  afflicted  he 
might  be,  would  be  better  able  to  sustain  the 
blow  than  her  mother. 

She  had  hardened  herself  since  her  de- 
parture, to  avoid  thinking  of  this  dear,  blessed 
home  where  dwelt  happiness  and  duty,  in- 
separable from  one  another.  She  had  in  vain 
created  for  herself  false  duties,  false  respon- 
sibilities, artificial  conventionalities,  an  ideal 
vocation ;  she  had  only  succeeded  in  accumu- 
lating upon  her  shoulders  burden  after  burden, 
without  finding  again  any  of  the  joys  which 
had   formerly  rendered  her  duties  so  light. 

"  Fool  that  I  was !  "  said  Agnes  to  herself, 
looking  over  the  barren,  monotonous  land- 
scape, crossed  by  the  highway.  "  I  thought  my- 
self the  centre  of  the  world,  and  I  am  not  even 
a  useful  wheel  in  this  social  machinery  where 
I  cannot  find  a  place.  I  am  good  for  nothing ! 
I  know  nothing,  although  I  have  learned  so 
many  things,  and  I  shall  know  nothing  until  I 
have  learned  to  bend  myself  to  discipline." 


A  NEW  EXPERIMENT.  275 

It  was  a  great  point  to  have  acknowledged 
the  truth ;  but  Agnes  was  hardly  able  to  feel 
it.  Her  tears  fell,  and  she  did  not  know  that 
she  was  weeping ;  the  old  leaven  of  pride  was 
melting  away  in  a  deep  emotion  of  repentance. 
How  gladly  she  would  now  have  fallen  at  the 
feet  of  those  whom  she  formerly  considered 
unjust,  —  if  she  had  thought  she  could  obtain 
forgiveness ! 

Mittia's  plaintive  voice  sounded  somewhere 
in  the  house.  Agnes  repressed  a  movement 
of  impatience. 

This  was  what  she  had  gained  by  banishing 
Ermile,  the  noble  and  courageous  Ermile,  who 
loved  her  in  spite  of  her  faults,  and  knew  how 
to  tell  her  of  it !  She  had  bartered  the 
friend  of  her  youth,  worthy  to  be  that  of  her 
whole  life,  for  a  plaintive,  ridiculous  lover, 
whose  sighs  would  have  been  offensive  but 
that  they  were  beneath  all  notice. 

"  O  mother  !  "  thought  Agnes,  while  tears  fell 
upon    her   hands   like    beads  from  a  chaplet; 


2/6  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  ^y  good  mother,  my  noble  father,  my  dear 
Ermile, — how  I  love  you  all!  Yes,  I  love  and 
bless  you  in  the  midst  of  trouble  which  I 
have  brought  upon  myself.  And  how  eagerly 
would  I  go  to  you  if  I  thought  you  would 
welcome    me !  " 

It  was  not  the  dread  of  reproaches  which 
now  held  Agnes  back:  it  was  the  fear  lest 
they  should  not  be  willing  to  receive  her  at 
the  hearth  which  she  had  deserted. 

"  Aunt  Sophie !  "  thought  the  young  girl  all 
at  once,  "  Wisdom  and  goodness  personified  ! 
She  is  the  one  who  will  give  me  assistance ; 
it  is  through  her  that  I  will  implore  forgive- 
ness from  those  whom  I  have  so  cruelly 
offended !  " 

She  hastened  to  the  school-room,  to  write 
the  letter  which  should  prepare  her  aunt  for 
her  arrival.  While  she  was  searching  in  her 
portfolio  for  a  sheet  of  paper  the  voice  of 
Madame  Markof  sounded  on  the  threshold :  — 

"  How    is    this,    miss,  —  did    I    not    forbid 


A  NEW  EXPERIMENT.  277 

you    to    allow    Seraphine    to    ask    me    for   a 
holiday?  " 

"  Yes,  madame,"  replied  Agnes,  raising  her 
head. 

"Well,  and  what  has  she  just  done?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  madame.  She  said  that 
she  was  going   to  say  good-morning  to  you." 

**  Exactly !  While  saying  good-morning  to 
me  she  asked  me  for  a  holiday,  and  I  granted 
it  to  her !  You  knew,  however,  that  it  was  not 
to  happen  again  !  " 

"Yes,  madame,  you  told  me  so,"  answered 
Agnes,  firmly.  "  But,  in  order  that  I  may  be 
able  to  obey  you,  you  will  have  to  authorize 
me  not  to  send  Seraphine  to  you  to  say  good- 
morning." 

*  But  I  am  very  particular  that  she  shall 
bid  me  good-morning!  Deprive  myself  of 
the  caresses  of  my  child !  That  is,  indeed, 
a  strange   idea  !  " 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Agnes,  who  could 
hardly    restrain   herself,  "  I   am   powerless   to 


2/8  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

prevent  her  from  asking  you  whatever  she 
wishes   to !  " 

"  It  is  because  you  don't  know  your  busi- 
ness!  I  wish,  —  understand,  —  I  wish  to  have 
Seraphine  see  me  whenever  she  desires  to 
do  so,  and  I  forbid  you  that  she  shall  ask 
for   holidays !  " 

"  Your  expression  is  not  correct,  madame," 
said  Agnes. 

"How?" 

"  No,  it  is  not  correct,  either  from  a  gram- 
matical  or  common-sense   point  of  view." 

"  Impertinent !  "  cried  Madame  Markof. 

"  Your  ill-opinion  cannot  injure  me,  ma- 
dame," replied  Agnes,  suddenly  feeling  herself 
again  the  daughter  of  Platon  Sourof  "  I  will 
leave  your  house.  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
provide  a  carriage  to  take  me  to  St.  Serge  ?  " 

"  You  ?  By  no  means !  I  am  satisfied 
with  your  services,  though  you  don't  know 
how  to  command  obedience,  and  I  shall  keep 
you." 


J  NEW   EXPERIMENT.  279 

"Against  my  will?" 

"  Certainly !  I  shall  not  give  you  back 
your  passport.  What  can  you  do  without  a 
passport?  " 

At  this  Agnes  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 
For  the  first  time  since  her  departure  the  fa- 
mous passport  was  of  no  consequence  to  her. 
She  thought  of  the  trunk,  Mademoiselle  Titofs 
precious  trunk,  from  which  she  had  taken 
only  a  little  linen,  having  opened  it  with  a 
key  found  by  chance.  She  was  then  rid  of 
the  trunk  and  the  passport  at  the  same  time ! 
What  a  figure  these  good  people  would  pre- 
sent when  summoned  to  give  up  these  two 
articles,  unduly  retained ! 

Madame  Markof  could  not  suspect  the 
thoughts  of  fun  which  were  dancing  through 
the  head  of  her  governess.  Seeing  her 
breathless  with  laughter,  she  thought  her  in 
hysterics,  and  hastened  to  bring  her  a  glass 
of  water. 

She    had    no    sooner   left   the   school-room 


280  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

than  Mittia  glided  in.  Agnes,  sitting  down, 
continued  to  laugh,  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to 
stop.  Her  handkerchief  at  her  mouth,  she 
now  and  then  calmed  herself,  then  burst 
out  more  violently,  as  a  new  comic  phase  of 
the  difficulty  presented  itself  to  her.  The 
sight  of  Mittia  was  not  fitted  to  diminish 
her  hilarity,  and,  as  he  regarded  her  tenderly, 
she  could  not  restrain  herself.  Burying  her 
face  in  her  handkerchief  she  laughed  till  she 
cried.  It  was  too  good  an  opportunity; 
Mittia  could  not  resist.  With  all  the  grace 
he  could  command  he  bent  towards  the 
young  girl,  and  advanced  his  lips  to  kiss 
her. 

But  Agnes  had  felt  his  red  whiskers  tickle 
her  ear;  her  movement  was  quicker  than  his 
thought;  and,  just  as  Madame  Markof  entered 
with  a  glass  of  water,  the  fingers  of  her  gov- 
erness gave  her  son's  cheek  a  resounding  slap. 

**  Oh !  "  cried  Mittia,  dumfounded,  raising 
his  hand  to  his  cheek. 


A  NEW   EXPERIMENT.  28 1 

"Miss  Agnes!  It  is  unheard  of!  To  strike 
my  son ! "  exclaimed  Madame  Markof,  spill- 
ing the  water  upon  her  dress,  in  her  indig- 
nation. 

"  It  would  be  better  to  kiss  him,  I  sup- 
pose?" replied  Agnes.  "Come,  madame,  will 
you  let  me  have  a  carriage  ? " 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !  "  shrieked  Madame  Markof, 
wiping  away  with  her  handkerchief,  mean- 
while, the  water  which  ran  down  her  dress. 

"  It  is  all  one  to  me  then.  I  will  go  away 
on  foot." 

"On  foot! — and  your  trunk?" 

Agnes  began  to  laugh  again,  while  gather- 
ing up  some  few  articles  which  belonged  to 
her. 

"  My  trunk,"  said  she,  "  will  be  sent  for. 
Good-by,  madame  !    good-by,  Mittia !  " 

She  disappeared,  leaving  Madame  Markof 
and  her  son  regarding  each  other  in  astonish- 
ment. Soon  after  she  ran  across  the  garden, 
clothed    in    the    same    gray   dress,    the    same 


282  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

cloak,  and  the  same  bonnet,  covered  with  the 
veil,  which  she  had  worn  when  leaving  Sourova. 
The  same  little  bag  hung  from  her  hand; 
only  she  had,  besides,  an  umbrella,  bought  at 
Moscow,  which  was  the  only  material  vestige 
of  her  fanciful  expedition. 


WALKING.  283 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WALKING. 

TT  was  a  beautiful  day,  and  Agnes's 
■*■  heart  leaped  in  her  breast  with  joy,  when 
she  reached  the  road  leading  to  St.  Serge. 
The  sun  shone  so  brightly,  and  there  was 
so  much  freedom  in  store  for  the  young 
fugitive !  She  felt  as  though  she  were  issu- 
ing from  a  prison  where,  for  an  endless  time, 
she  had  enjoyed  neither  light  nor  society. 

"  However,  they  are  not  monkeys,"  thought 
she,  laughing ;  "  but  perhaps  monkeys  would 
have  been  better." 

"  Oh-o-oh  I  Mittia  !  "  sighed  Agnes,  aloud, 
and   then    she    burst  out   laughing. 

When  one  is  young  and  joyous,  when  the 
sky  is  clear  and  the  air  fresh,  one  always 
commences    by  walking   too     fast.       At    the 


284  DOS/A 'S  DAUGHTER. 

end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  traveller's 
legs  were  already  tired.  She  had  set  off 
at  such  a  quick  pace  that  she  thought  to 
reach  St.  Serge  in  two  hours  at  the  most; 
but  she  was  soon  obliged  to  stop,  seat 
herself  on  the  wayside  on  a  soft  pile  of 
stones  which  offered  her  a  rest,  and  con- 
sider that  even  at  the  rate  of  five  versts  an 
hour,  which  was  certainly  the  maximum  of 
her  speed,  it  would  take  her  four  or  five 
full    hours. 

This  was  not  very  encouraging,  although 
liberty  could  be  bought  at  this  price.  Rising, 
a  little  stiff,  she  took  a  less  rapid  pace,  and 
her  thoughts  underwent  the  same  modifica- 
tion. 

It  was  an  excellent  thing  to  have  escaped 
from  slavery;  but  the  days  of  deliverance 
have  their  to-morrows,  for  individuals  as  well 
as  for  nations,  and  no  one  knows  how  to 
take  advantage  of  these  days  if  they  have  not 
foreseen  the  consequences. 


WALKING,  285 

For  Agnes  the  consequence  was  a  journey 
to  the  house  of  her  Aunt  Mourief,  who  must 
still  be  occupying  her  residence  at  Tsarskoe- 
Selo.  In  that  case  she  must  go  to  Peters- 
burg —  pass  a  night  in  a  hotel ! 

'•  Never !  "  cried  Agnes,  out  loud.  "  There 
are  too  many  beetles  !  " 

In  vain  her  reason  tried  to  persuade  her 
that  there  would  probably  be  fewer  in  other 
hotels ;   her  mind  refused  to  listen. 

"  I  had  rather  take  the  train  and  pass  the 
night  in  a  railway  carriage  !  " 

All  at  once  she  realized  that,  unfortunately, 
her  liberty  had  so  far  brought  her  uncomfort- 
able nights ;  and  naturally  her  thoughts  flew 
towards  home,  where  all  was  so  pleasant  and 
comforting  to  the  heart. 

"  O  mamma  !  my  sister !  Kola !  "  thought 
she ;  "  I  shall  see  you  again,  at  last !  My  dear 
ones,  it  is  indeed  true  that  one's  joy  must  be 
lost  in  order  to  realize  its  value  !  " 

While    walking     she    considered    that    this 


286  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

truth  had  been  repeated  to  her  a  thousand 
times  in  conversation  and  in  books,  and  that 
she  had  disregarded  it  with  a  sort  of  disdain, 
Uke  so  many  others.  Youth  does  not  love 
established  truths,  acquired  experiences.  It 
admits  at  first  only  that  which  it  has  itself 
verified. 

"  If  it  is  thus  with  everything,"  she  said 
to  herself,  "  I  know  nothing  of  life ;  I  have  it 
all  to  learn,  and  it  will  take  a  long  time !  How 
foolish  and  self-conceited  I  have  been  !  " 

As  these  reflections  passed,  and  Agnes 
walked  on,  the  sun  also  traversed  the  sky,  the 
mile-posts  succeeded  one  another,  and  —  must 
we  confess  it? — the  young  girl  became  very 
hungry.  The  emotions  of  her  breast  could 
not  impose  silence  on  the  demands  of  her 
appetite. 

The  road  so  far  had  been  absolutely  bare 
and  deserted.  On  each  side  were  noble, 
silent  forests,  where  the  bright  green  moss  in 
the  openings   indicated  an   extreme  dampness. 


WALKING.  287 

excellent  for  vegetation,  but  precluding  all 
idea  of  finding  wild  fruits  —  especially  rare  at 
this  season. 

"It  is  rather  hard,"  thought  Agnes;  "one 
can,  it  seems,  be  hungry  and  unable  to 
procure  food,  even  with  money  in  one's 
pocket !  I  am  wrecked  on  the  shores  of 
civilization." 

After  a  long,  tedious  walk,  the  sun  indicat- 
ing almost  half-past  three,  Agnes  came  at 
last  to  a  small  village.  With  a  confidence 
inspired  by  her  annual  sojourn  among  the 
peasants  of  her  father's  land — whom  she 
loved  and  who  loved  her  —  the  young  girl 
entered  the  first  house,  and  asked  for  bread 
and  milk,  offering  payment. 

The  peasant  woman  was  old  and  cross. 

"  We  are  not  shop-keepers,"  said  she,  in  a 
rude  tone ;   "  we  don't  sell  our  milk." 

"  Then  give  it  to  me,"  replied  the  girl, 
good-naturedly.  "  I  will  pray  to  God  for 
you." 


288  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

How  different  she  was  from  the  vain 
Agnes  of  former  times !  Even  so  few  days 
had  already  taught  her  that  one  gains  nothing 
by  being  haughty,  and  that  a  Httle  good- 
humor  serves  one  better  than  the  grandest 
airs. 

"You  are  going  to  St.  Serge?"  asked  the 
woman,  pacified. 

"  Yes,  on  foot ;   and  I  am  very  hungry." 

"  You  should  have  said  so.  Sit  down  there, 
my  child ;  you  shall  have  something  to  eat 
and  to  drink." 

A  fresh  honeycomb  and  a  bowl  of  milk 
were  immediately  placed  before  her,  with  a 
large  piece  of  black  bread,  and  her  youthful 
appetite  did  them  the  greatest  honor.  The 
old  woman  watched  her  eat  with  a  satisfied 
air;  evidently  she  had  felt  great  hunger  more 
than  once  herself,  and  she  knew  what  pleasure, 
not  only  material,  but  moral,  accompanies 
the  partaking  of  hospitality  generously  offered 
and  gracefully  received. 


WALKING.  289 

When  Agnes  had  finished  her  meal  the 
old  woman  asked,  "  Will  you  have  some 
more?  Don't  hesitate!  Although  far  from 
rich,  we  are  not  poor,  and  can  offer  a  crust 
of  bread  to  passing  pilgrims.  They  pray  to 
God  for  us,  and  we  are  better  for  it," 

"  Thanks,  mother,"  replied  the  young  girl. 
"  I  am  satisfied.  I  shall  never  forget  your 
hospitality.     What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"  If  you  wish  you  can  offer  a  very  small 
candle  to  the  miraculous  Virgin  at  the 
monastery.  But  a  very  small  one,  you  un- 
derstand !  A  candle  worth  three  kopecks. 
That  which  I  have  given  you  is  not  worth 
so  much;  but  I  hiave  been  wanting  for  a 
long  time  to  offer  a  candle  there,  and  for 
ten  years  have  not  been  able  to  get  as  far 
as  St.  Serge." 

"  I  will  do  it,"  said  Agnes.  "  Why  can  you 
not  go  as  far  as  that, — it  is  so  near?" 

"Ah,  my  child,  we  have  no  leisure  in 
our    family!        We    work;     some    are    born. 


290  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

Others  die.  I  have  three  daughters  and  two 
sons,  all  married ;  they  have  a  throng  of 
children ;  and,  besides,  it  is  now  five  years 
since  I  have  had  my  husband  there  on  the 
stove." 

Agnes  looked  surprised,  and  in  the  darker 
part  of  the  room  she  perceived  an  old  man, 
with  a  white  beard,  lying  on  the  stove,  wrapped 
in  blankets. 

"  Excuse  me,  father,  I  had  not  seen  you," 
said  she,  going  towards  him.    "  Do  you  suffer?" 

"  I  do  not  suffer,  my  little  beauty,"  replied 
the  old  man,  looking  at  her  kindly;  "only  my 
legs  refuse  to  support  me,  and  I  remain  thus. 
In  summer  they  carry  me  out  of  doors,  and  I 
see  the  good  God's  bright  sun;  but  after  it 
begins  to  be  rather  cold  I  do  not  go  out. 
Thanks  to  the  Lord,  I  have  a  kind  wife  and 
good  children,  who  let  me  want  for  nothing, 
and  I  am  content." 

"You  are  content?"  cried  Agnes,  with  a 
kind  of  religious  awe. 


WALKING.  291 

"Why,  yes!  Why  should  I  not  be?  They 
take  good  care  of  me.  I  have  good  eyes  and 
good  ears ;  and  from  time  to  time  a  bounty 
comes  to  me." 

"A  bounty?" 

"  Certainly ;  a  pedler  passes  with  his  boxes, 
or  even  some  pilgrims,  who  sing  hymns  or 
tell  stories.  To-day  it  is  you,  my  little 
beauty.  I  take  pleasure  in  looking  at  you, 
and  I  shall  laugh  to-morrow  in  remembering 
with  what  good  appetite  you  ate  your  bread 
just  now." 

The  young  girl  became  thoughtful.  She 
placed  her  hand  upon  that  of  the  old  man, 
who  smiled  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  Father,"  said  she,  "  I  thank  you  for  your 
hospitality;  it  has  done  me  more  good  than 
you  think  for.  I  will  pray  that  your  life  may 
be  always  full  of  things  which  you  love.  And 
you,  mother,  I  will  gladly  fulfil  your  desire. 
I  will  offer  a  candle  to  the  Virgin  of  the 
monastery." 


292  DOSIA'S    DAUGHTER. 

"  A  little  one,  for  three  kopecks." 

"  Yes,  a  little  one ;  for  the  recovery  of  your 
husband." 

"  Oh  !  —  his  recovery !  —  that  isn't  to  be 
thought  of!  But  only  that  he  may  not 
grow    any  worse." 

She  bade  them  farewell ;  the  good  woman 
accompanied  her,  and  on  the  threshold  she 
paused. 

"  I  am  glad  that  I  entered  here,  mother ; 
you  have  given  me  bread  for  my  body,  and 
your  husband  that  for  my  soul.  May  God's 
blessing  rest  upon  your  house !  " 

"  May  his  protection  accompany  you !  " 
answered  the  old  woman  fervently.  "  But 
listen  to  a  word  of  advice,  my  child :  don't 
mention  money  when  you  enter  people's 
houses  ;  that  makes  them  angry,  you  see ! 
One  is  willing  to  give,  but  not  for  money ; 
that  would  spoil  all !  " 

"  You  are  indeed  right,  mother.  I  will  not 
forget  it.     Good-by." 


WALKING.  293 

She  departed  with  a  light  step,  refreshed 
and  comforted.  A  mysterious  and  solemn 
impression  remained  upon  her,  as  if  she  were 
walking  in  a  church.  The  resignation  of  the 
peasant  and  the  simplicity  of  the  old  woman 
had  penetrated  her  soul  with  a  strange  sweet- 
ness ;  the  bread  of  charity,  simply  accepted, 
appeared  to  her  a  veritable  communion  with 
these  humble  people. 

"  To  know  how  to  content  one's  self  with  a 
little  !  —  with  so  little  !  O  my  brothers,  before 
God,  I  love  you !  "  murmured  Agnes,  her 
eyes  brimming  with  happy  tears. 

The  sun  declined,  and  she  kept  on  walking. 
Soon  it  hid  itself  behind  a  grove  of  birches 
which  covered  a  hill  on  the  right ;  through  the 
thin  branches,  already  bereft  of  their  leaves, 
she  saw  the  sky  grow  red  like  a  flame,  and 
then  the  brightness  decrease.  The  steeples 
of  St.  Serge  at  last  appeared  before  her  eyes, 
which  began  to  grow  weary,  and  which  the 
chill  of  the  evening  filled  with  mist. 


294  DOS/A 'S  DAUGHTER. 

She  was  tired  out;  often,  fearing  to  drop, 
she  paused  an  instant  to  take  breath.  Must 
the  night  come  on  before  she  reached  the 
town?  At  home,  in  her  father's  woods,  she 
would  not  have  been  afraid ;  but  here,  on 
this  unknown  ground,  she  knew  not  what 
she  might  meet. 

She  walked  on  and  on,  thinking  that 
everything  was  difficult ;  that  the  way  to 
liberty  was  full  of  unexpected  obstacles,  and 
that  to  be  willing  was  not  sufficient.  In  spite 
of  the  firmest  determination,  how  many  hin- 
drances, how  many  snares,  —  and  her  ever 
strong  will  could  not  assuage  the  pain  of  her 
burning  feet,  wearied  by  a  long  journey. 

The  sky  had  turned  from  red  to  yellow,  from 
yellow  to  green.  The  shadows  of  the  forests 
were  now  black  masses,  where  one  could  dis- 
tinguish neither  leaves  nor  branches  —  and 
Agnes  still  walked  on.  The  bells  of  St.  Serge 
pealed  out  in  the  calm  air.  "  Come,"  said  they; 
"we  are  the  refuge,  the  end  of  the  pilgrimage; 


WALKING,  295 

we  call  the  tired  traveller  to  the  place  of  rest 
and  prayer.  When  you  have  reached  the 
foot  of  the  tower  whence  we  resound  you  may 
retire  and  sleep  "  — 

The  sound  of  the  bells  died  away  in  the 
clear  air,  and  Agnes  felt  no  longer  alone. 

For  an  instant  she  thought  of  seating  herself 
by  the  wayside  and  remaining  there.  She 
had  less  fear  of  the  open  air  than  of  hotels, 
which,  moreover,  appeared  to  her  to  be  in- 
accessible. She  recalled  songs  where  the 
heroes  laughingly  spoke  of  sleeping  at  the  inn 
of  "  The  Fair  Star." 

But  it  was  growing  cold,  and  Agnes  was  so 
orderly,  such  a  careful  observer  of  propriety, 
that  this  seeming  vagabondage  was  exceedingly 
distasteful  to  her.  A  church  might  answer,  — 
but   the  roadside  — 

And,  besides,  what  encounters  she  might 
have !  She  resumed  her  walk  with  dragging 
feet,  very  tired,  sad,  and  overcome.  Finally 
the  houses  of  the  town  appeared ;   the  young 


296  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

girl  straightened  up  so  as  to  present  a  good 
front,  like  troops  on  the  march ;  with  calm 
face  and  confident  tread,  she  walked  to  the 
square  before  the  monastery.  There  were 
few  people  about ;  the  train  from  Moscow  had 
just  arrived,  and  all  had  hastened  to  their 
homes  or  their  business.  Agnes  thought  that 
she  would  take  a  carriage  to  the  railway  sta- 
tion, for  she  was  unable  to  walk  more. 

She  went  to  the  carriage  stand  in  the 
centre  of  the  square,  and  was  about  to  call  a 
cabman,  when  she  saw  a  tall  man,  with  shoul- 
ders slightly  bent,  who  seemed  to  be  making 
a  bargain   for  a  cab. 

A  voice,  grave  and  rather  sad,  struck  her 
ear.  There  was  everything  in  that  well-known 
voice,  —  home,  happiness,  even  love. 

"  Ermile  !  "  cried  the  young  girl,  stretching 
out  her  arms. 

The  bag  and  umbrella  fell  to  the  ground, 
and  Agnes  threw  herself,  weeping,  on  the 
breast   of  her    banished    lover. 


WALKING.  297 

"  I  was  just  going  to  seek  you,"  said  the 
young  man,  simply,  gathering  up  the  fallen 
objects,  after  the  first  moment  of  surprise. 

"  Which  do  you  prefer,  —  to  pass  the  night 
here,  or  to  start  immediately  for  Moscow?" 

"  Let  us  start !  let  us  start !  "  murmured 
Agnes,  clinging  tightly  to  his  arm. 

"  There  is  a  train  in  an  hour ;  let  us  go 
to  the  station." 

"  No,  wait !  "  said  the  young  girl.  "  I  have 
a  duty  to  fulfil." 

Followed  by  her  friend,  she  entered  the 
great  church,  where  vespers  were  being  sung; 
near  the  door  she  bought  a  candle  for  three 
kopecks,  and  placed  it  herself  before  the 
miraculous  image,  after  which  she  went  out. 
But  Ermile  had  not  understood  the  meaning 
of  her  act. 

"  Superstitious  rites  !  —  you,  Agnes?  "  said 
he. 

"No;  a  promise.     I  will  tell  you  about  it." 

The  train  was  soon  carrying  them  away  to 


298  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

Moscow.  Sitting  silently,  opposite  each  other, 
they  looked  at  one  another  and  smiled;  they 
were  not  inclined  to  speech ;  they  had  too 
much  to  say,  and,  besides,  they  had  plenty 
of  time. 

An  hour  later  they  crossed  Moscow.  At 
ten  o'clock  they  were  in  the  night  train, 
which  bore  them  towards  the  Volga. 

When  they  found  themselves  alone,  in  the 
warm  and  well-lighted  compartment,  Agnes 
stretched  out  so  as  to  rest  her  swollen  feet. 
Ermile  said  to  her,  smiling  sadly,  "How  thin 
you  have  grown  !  " 

"  It's  because  I  have  eaten  too  much  cold 
roast,"  replied  she,   in  a  tired  voice. 

She  was  truly  exhausted. 

Without  dwelling  on  the  originality  of  this 
reply  Ermile  answered  :  — 

•'  I  have  disobeyed  you  again,  but  reas- 
sure yourself;  as  soon  as  we  have  returned  I 
shall  be  wise  enough  to  go  to  my  father's,  and 
not  trouble  you  further  b)'  my  presence"  — 


WALKING.  299 

"  Ermile,  will  you  never  pardon  me?" 
cried  Agnes,  stretching  towards  him  her  thin 
hand,   now  a  little  feverish. 

"  I   pardon   you  ?     O  my  darling !  "  — 

And,  at  the  risk  of  appearing  ridicu- 
lous, he  fell  upon  his  knees  in  the  car- 
riage, showering  tender  kisses  on  her  burning 
hand. 

The  next  day,  before  the  sun  had  disap- 
peared behind  the  forests,  Agnes  reentered 
the  home  of  her  parents.  .Warned  by  a 
despatch  from  Ermile,  they  awaited  her  with 
hearts  full  of  anxiety.  Despatches  say  either 
too  little  or  too  much  to  satisfy  the  eager- 
ness of  anxious  people,  and  Dosia  feared  to 
see  her  child  return  embittered  by  suffering. 

At  last  the  carriage  sent  to  meet  the 
travellers  rolled  up  the  drive.  Dosia  wished 
to  run  out  on  the  porch,  but  her  husband 
restrained  her. 

"  It  is  the  prodigal  child,  wife,"  said  he ; 
•'  but   do    not   forget   that,    like    him,  she   has 


300  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

sinned  against  heaven  and  against  us.  The 
happiness  of  her  Hfe  may  depend  upon  the  first 
word  she  shall  say  on  entering  the  house "  — 

The  door  opened ;  Agnes  entered ;  without 
speaking,  her  father  and  mother  awaited  her, 
standing.  She  did  not  even  look  in  their 
faces,  but  ran  towards  them,  and  fell  on  her 
knees  before  her  mother.  Dosia  received 
her  in  her  arms,  and  felt  that  paradise  is 
sometimes  found   upon  earth. 

"  Well,  my.  daughter,"  said  Platon,  with 
a  slight  smile,  "  have  you  tasted  the  fruits 
of  the  tree  of  knowledge?" 

"  They  are  bitter,  papa,"  replied  the  guilty 
girl ;  "  but  their  bitterness  has  at  least  taught 
me  that  my  wisdom  was  only  folly," 

After  Vera  and  Kola  had  eagerly  em- 
braced their  sister,  and  Mademoiselle  Titof 
had  cut  short  Agnes's  excuses  by  a  most 
affectionate  reception,  Platon  turned  to  Ermile. 

"How  were  you  able  to  find  her?" 
said   he. 


WALKING.  301 

"  It  is  very  simple,"  replied  the  worthy 
young  man,  with  his  accustomed  modesty. 
"I  was  anxious  on  your  account,  —  you 
understand  that,  do  you  not?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  understand,"  said  Platon,  with 
a  convinced  air,  while  Dosia  repressed  a  smile. 

"Then  I  said  to  myself  that  Miss  Agnes 
must  have  had  recourse  to  some  bureau  of 
employment.  They  are  not  very  numerous 
in  Moscow,  and  I  soon  made  the  round  of 
them.  A  wrong  direction,  in  consequence  of 
a  resemblance  of  names,  cost  me  several  days ; 
but  finally  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  get 
upon  the  right  track,  and  from  that  moment 
was  entirely  successful." 

"You  met,  then,  on  the  street?" 

"  On  the  square,  just  as  Agnes  —  Miss 
Agnes  was  about  to  take  one  carriage  for 
the  station,  and  I  another  to  go  to  the  place 
where  she  lived." 

"Where  were  you  going  then?"  asked 
Vera,  —  "not  coming  here,  surely?" 


302  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER, 

Agnes  blushed. 

"  No,  not  here.  I  knew  that  I  did  not 
deserve  to  be  received  here.  I  was  going  to 
Aunt  Mouriefs." 

"  That's  all  right !  "  cried  Kola ;  "  they  will 
be  here  to-morrow  evening !  " 

"  Come,"  said  Platon,  "  all  is  for  the  best. 
Now,  my  children,  let  us  go  to  dinner." 

The  next  day  Pierre  and  his  wife  did, 
indeed,  arrive.  Aunt  Sophie  had  to  receive 
many  confidences  from  Agnes,  who  told  her 
all  which  she  did  not  yet  dare  express  to 
her  mother,  although  they  understood  each 
other's  hearts  from  the  first.  Good  Sophie 
knew  how  to  place  them  at  once  in  enjoy- 
ment of  their  reciprocal  feelings,  so  that  no 
cloud,  no  doubt,  could  henceforth  rise  be- 
tween them. 

"  Well,  niece,"  said  Pierre,  seeing  the  young 
girl  evince  at  table  the  best  of  appetites; 
"have  you  eaten  of  the  vache  enragee?" 

"  Pardon  me,  uncle,  it  was  of  beef,"  replied 


WALKING. 


303 


she.  And  everybody  was  delighted  with  the 
joke,  for  at  that  moment  they  were  easily 
satisfied. 

Marie  had  come  to  Sourova  to  celebrate 
the  finding  of  the  lost  sheep.  After  some 
preliminaries  she  said  to  her :  — 

"  You  know  that  Ermile  deserves  credit 
for  going  to  seek  you.  You  had  not  given 
him  any  encouragement !  " 

"  I  know  it,"  answered  Agnes.  "  Do  not 
overwhelm  me !  Marie,  it  seems  to  me  that, 
from  the  time  of  my  birth  until  the  moment 
he  rescued  me,  I  have  made  nothing  but 
blunders." 

"  Oh  !  then  all  is  well !  "  said  Marie. 

A  few  days  after,  Ermile  made  his  mar- 
riage offer  to  Agnes's  parents.  He  knew 
now,  beyond  doubt,  that  the  heart,  so  long 
coveted,  was  irrevocably  his. 

"We  have  only  just  recovered  her;  you 
are  not  going  to  take  her  from  us  at  once ! " 
was  Dosia's  response. 


304  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  Next  summer,"  said  Platon.  "  And  you 
had  better  come  and  pass  the  winter  at 
Petersburg.  You  and  she  can  only  gain  by 
seeing  each  other  often  in  the  same  society. 
You  will  thus  both  become  better  acquainted 
with  it  and  with  yourselves." 

Christmas  eve,  all  the  family,  including 
Ermile,  dined  at  Aunt  Sophie's,  with  a  great 
abundance  of  good-humor    and  choice  dishes. 

"  Come,  Agnes,"  said  Uncle  Pierre,  who 
could  not  refrain  from  the  pleasure  of  teas- 
ii^g>  "  yo"  have  never  confided  to  us  what 
occurred  there  at  the  house  of  the  ogress, 
in  the  vicinity  of  St.   Serge." 

"  I  have  told  my  parents  about  it,  dear 
uncle !  " 

"You  could  not  more  delicately  inform  me 
that  I  am  indiscreetly  curious.  But  an  uncle 
is  almost  a  father !  Confess,  now !  You  de- 
voured the  ogress,  and  it  is  to  escape  justice 
that  you  have  sought  refuge  in  the  bosom 
of  your   family?  " 


WALKING.  305 

Agnes  smiled  good-naturedly.  She  could 
take  a  joke  now,  and  knew  how  to  reply 
to    it. 

"I  ate  no  one,  uncle;  and.  I  sometimes 
regret  it,  for  it  would  have  varied  the  bill 
of  fare." 

Pierre  made  a   gesture  of  approval. 

"  Well  answered.  And  tell  me,  was  the 
family   numerous?" 

"  A  father,   mother,  son,  and   daughter." 

"A  grown-up  son?"  said  Pierre,  winking. 

"Yes,  uncle." 

"  In  love  with  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  uncle." 

Agnes  burst  out  laughing  at  the  remem- 
brance of  Mittia. 

"Did  you  make  a  martyr  of  him?" 

"  O  uncle,  it  was  he  made  a  martyr  of 
me.  I  did  not  look  at  him,  I  assure 
you  !  " 

"  Well,  did  he  court  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  uncle." 


306  DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER. 

"How?" 

Agnes  imitated  one  of  the  tenderly  modu- 
lated sighs  of  the  unfortunate  Mittia.  Every- 
body laughed. 

"And  that  was  all?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  " 

"What  happened  finally?" 

Agnes  assumed  a  very  serious  air  and 
looked  at  Ermile,  who  was  laughing. 

"  Don't  laugh,  sir,"  said  she.  "  It  is  a 
serious    matter,    as   you    will    see." 

"You  did  not  stab  him?"  asked  Vera, 
whom    all    the    ladies    regarded    reproachfully. 

"No,  but  he  came  near"  — 

"  To  kiss  you  ? "  interrupted  Pierre  Mourief, 
with  a  droll  expression  about  his  mouth. 

"Yes,  and  then"  — 

"Go  on,  Dosia's  daughter,  go  on"  — 

"  I  gave  him  a  slap,"  said  Agnes,  mod- 
estly. 

"  It  runs  in  the  family !  "  cried  Pierre, 
shaking  with  delight. 


WALKING.  307 

All  the  guests  shared  his  gayety,  even 
Platon.  Dosia  alone  did  not  laugh  altogether 
heartily.  It  was  very  painful  to  her  to  think 
that  her  daughter,  her  cherished  Agnes,  had 
been  exposed  to  such  dangers.  Agnes  un- 
derstood it,  and  threw  her  a  look  full  of 
tenderness,  which  contained  a  world  of  regrets 
and  promises. 

After  a  delightful  winter,  when  the  spring 
brought  every  one  back  to  the  country,  there 
came  a  festival  season  for  the  happy  family. 
The  time  of  Agnes's  marriage  drew  near; 
but  she  would  really  be  very  little  separated 
from  her  parents,  whom  she  had  now  learned 
to  love  as  they  deserved.  However,  Dosia 
seemed  to  treasure  the  last  days  that  her 
daughter  was  to  be  with  her;  for  now  she 
and  Agnes  never  left  each  otKer. 

The  day  came,  however,  when  the  young 
bride  left  her  loved  home  to  join  at  church 
the  husband  whom  she  now  loved  with  all  her 
soul.     Just   as  she  was  crossing  the  threshold 


308  DOSIA'S   DAUGHTER. 

a  little  package  was  handed  her,  which  had 
arrived  by  post.  Since  the  previous  day  there 
had  been  a  constant  shower  of  presents.  The 
package  was  opened,  for  Agnes  wished  to  see 
who  had  thought  of  her.  It  was  a  little  image 
carved  out  of  cypress  wood,  very  simple  and 
even  rude,  representing  St.  Serge. 

"From  whom  can  that  come?"  asked  Vera, 
always  inquisitive. 

"I  do  not  know!"  said  Agnes,  searching 
her  memory.  "  Oh,  yes !  it  is  my  wayside 
peasant,  she  who  gave  me  food  the  day  I 
found  —  no,  that  Ermile  found  me !  We 
wrote  them  of  our  marriage.  Such  kind 
people !  " 

The  ceremony  took  place  very  quietly,  as 
was  fitting  in  a  courftry  church ;  but  everybody 
was  happy,  and  the  church  as  full  of  flowers 
as  at  Whitsuntide. 

When,  in  the  evening,  Ermile  had  led  away 
his  young  wife,  who  secretly  shed  tears  of 
real  repentance  at  the  memory  of  her  errors, 


WALKING.  309 

Platon  sat  in  the  large  drawing-room,  with 
all   the    family. 

"  She  will  be  happy,"  said  he ;  "  there  is  not 
the  least  doubt  of  that;  but  how  we  shall 
miss  her !  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Dosia,  "  how  I 
can  manage  to  live  without  her.  I  shall  miss 
her  follies  even,  and  there  will  be  a  great 
vacancy  in    my  life." 

"  Happily  I  am  here !  "  said  Vera,  with  a 
suggestive    air,   which   said    much. 

Dosia  stroked  her  hair  affectionately,  and 
turned  towards  her  sister-in-law.  But  Vera 
had  her  idea,  and  it  was  to  Mademoiselle 
Titof  that  she  confided  it. 

"If  they  find  it  dull,"  said  she,"  it  will  not 
be  my  fault !  Now  that  Agnes  is  gone  they 
shall  learn  what  I  am  capable  of.  So  far  I 
have  been  misunderstood." 


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Rosemary  and  Rue.  Fanchette. 

Madame  Lucas.  His  Second  Campaign. 

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12  A  List  of  Books  Published  hy 


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SCHOPENHAUER'S  (Arthur)  The  World  as  Will  and 

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Tichior  and  Company.  13 


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14  A  List  of  Books  Published  by 


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THA  CKERA  Y  (William  M.)  ,  The  Ballads  of.    Complete 

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THOMAS  A  KEMPIS'S  The  Imitation  of  Christ.    16rao. 

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THOMPSONS  (Maurick)  Songs  of  Fair  Weather.  Sl.oO. 

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Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow.      12mo. 

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Ticknor  and  Company.  15 


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16  A  List  of  Books  Published  by 


WINCKELMANN'S  (John)  The  History  of  Ancient  Art. 

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Poems.     New  revised  edition.     1  vol.     16mo. 


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The  Rise  of  Silas  Lapham.    A  Woman's  Beason.    A  Modem 

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Ticknor  and  Company.  17 

TICKNOR  AND  COMPANY'S 

ANNOUNCEMENTS  OF  NEW  BOOKS, 

AUTUMN  OF   1885. 


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THE    HOLIDAY    BOOK    OF    THE    SEASON. 

BYRO/H'S  GHILDE  HAROLD. 

An  entirely  TTew  Edition  of  this  Famous  and  Popular  Poem, 
from  New  Plates,  with  more  than  One  Hundred  New 
Illustrations  by  leading  American  Artists. 

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The  immediate  and  permanent  succesfi  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake," 
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IN  CAMP  AND  BATTLE  WITH  THE  WASHING- 
TON ARTILLERY  OF  NEW  ORLEANS.  By  Wm.  Mcleb  Owen, 
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An  astute  critic  recently  wrote  that  the  mantle  of  the  author  of  "  Alire^s 
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the  y«ar. 


18  A  List  of  Books  Published  by 


A  NARRATIVE  OF  MILITARY  SERVICE.   By  Gen. 

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to  take  Atlanta,  who  marched  to  the  sea,  who  swarmed  over  the  parapets  of 
Fort  McAllister,  who  made  the  triumphant  campaign  of  the  Carolinas,  and 
passed  in  review  before  the  President."  —  JV^   1'.  Mail  and  Express. 

TUSCAN  CITIES.     By  William  D.  Howells.     1  vol. 

8vo.     Copiously  illustrated.    $5.00.    Morocco,  or  tree-calf,  SIO.OO. 

A  series  of  recent  sketches  of  certain  famous  Italian  cities,  writt«u  with 
minute  carefulness  and  befitting  elegance  of  style,  and  at  once  historical, 
instructive,  personal,  and  diverting.  They  are  also  admirably  illustrated 
by  Pennell,  who  was  sent  abroad  for  the  purpose. 

LECTURES    ON    THE   PRINCIPLES    OF   HOUSE 

DRAINAGE.   ByJ.  PicKEniNOPoTNAM.   With  Diagrams.  16mo.  76  cents. 

ENGLISH  HOME  LIFE.     By  Robert  Laird  Collier. 

Ivol.    16mo.    $1.00. 

A  delightful  account  of  the  manners  of  the  Engli.sh  people  in  their  homes, 
written  by  a  well-known  gentleman,  who  for  years  has  been  pastor  of  a 
Unitarian  Church  in  England. 

CHRISTIANITY  BEFORE  CHRIST;  OR,  PROTO- 
TYPES OF  OUR  FAITH  AND  CULTURE.  By  Charles  J. 
Stone,  F.R.S.L.,F.R.Hist.S.    1vol.    Crown  8vo.    Sf3.00. 

This  book  traces  the  elaboration  in  arts  and  arms  of  the  civilization  of 
ancient  Hindustan ;  and  places  the  religion  in  juxtaposition  with  Cliris- 
tianity.  Quotations  are  given  from  the  ancient  Hindu  Dramas,  Poems, 
Religious  Writings,  &c.  It  shows  that  prototypes  to  our  Christian  doc- 
trines and  practices  have  long  existed  among  our  Indo-Aryan  consins,  and 
other  peoples. 

MILTON  AND    VON  DEL,    A   Curiosity  of    Literature. 

By  George  Edmundson,  M.A.     Late  Fellow  and  Tutor  of  Braseno?e  College, 
Oxford,  Vicar  of  Northolt,  Middlesex.    1  vol.    Crown  Svo.     $2.50. 

POEMS.    By  William  D.  Howells.    1  vol.    12mo.    In  a 

box.    New  and  revised  edition.    Printed  on  fine  hand-made  paper.    Parch- 
ment covers.     $2.00. 

"  The  subtile,  elusive  charm  that  makes  his  prose  ineffably  delicious  is 
here  too,  —  the  tenderness  of  feeling,  the  play  of  humor,  the  colorful 
beauty,  the  sad  sweetness."  —  New  York  Evening  Mail. 

THE   GOLDEN  SPIKE.     By  Edward  King,  author  of 

"  The  Gentle  Savage,"  etc.    1  vol.    i2mo.     851.50. 

Mr.  King's  previous  novel  established  his  reputation  for  originality  and 
sustained  interest  in  novel-writing;  and  "  The  Golden  Spike  "  more  than 
redeems  the  promise  of  its  predecessor. 

THE   KNAVE    OF  HEARTS.      By    Robert    Grant 

12mo.    $1.26. 


Ticknor  and  Compant;.  19 


IN   PRESS: 
DOSIA'S  DAUGHTER.     By  Hknri  Gn^gvir.LK.     Trans- 

latcd  from  the  French  by  Clara  Erskine  Clement  Waters.    12mo.    $1.25. 
Madame  Oreville  has  formally  constituted  Messrs.  Ticknor  and  Company 
her  American  Publishers,  and  the  present  delightful  noTel  is  brought  out  by 
them  in  advance  of  its  appearance  in  Paris. 

JAPANESE  HOMES  AND  THEIR  SURROUND- 
INGS. By  Edward  S.  Morse,  Ph.  D.,  Director  of  the  Peabody  Academy 
of  Science,  late  Professor  of  Zoology  in  the  University  of  'J'okio,  Japan, 
Member  of  the  National  Academy  of  Science,  Fellow  of  the  American 
Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  etc. ,  etc.  Profusely  illustrated  with  original 
drawings  by  the  author.    1  vol.    8vo.     Sf5.00. 

A  work  of  unique  and  surpassing  interest.  The  art  of  Japan  is  a  subject 
of  universal  study  and  wonder.  The  home-life  of  the  Japanese  few  travel- 
ler hitherto  have  been  permitted  to  examine.  Professor  Morse  has  been 
enabled  to  see  and  study  this  wonderful  people  in  their  own  homes.  The 
results  of  his  observation  are  embodied  in  this  volume,  and  fully  sustain 
the  popular  expectation  as  to  the  interest  of  the  subject  and  the  author's 
reputation  as  the  leading  Japanese  scholar  of  the  time. 

C HO  SON:  THE  LAND  OF  THE  MORNING  CALM. 

By  PERCrvAL  Lowell.  Kichly  illustrated  with  full-page  Heliotype  Engrav- 
ings, from  the  first  photographs  ever  made  in  Korea.    1  vol.    8vo.    S5.00. 

While  in  Japan,  in  the  summer  of  1883,  Mr.  Lowell  was  asked  to  accom- 
pany the  Korean  Embassy  to  the  United  States,  the  first  Korean  Embassy 
ever  accredited  to  a  Western  power,  as  its  foreign  Secretary  and  Counsellor. 
At  the  completion  of  its  mission  Mr.  Lowell  returned  with  the  Embassy  to 
Korea,  where  he  was  entertained  as  the  guest  of  the  king  for  several  months. 

The  present  volume  is  the  outcome  of  that  visit,  and  is  the  first  book 
ever  written  about  Korea  by  one  who  has  been  there. 

THE  OLDEN-TIME  SERIES.    16mo.   Per  vol.,  50  cents. 

There  appears  to  be,  from  year  to  year,  a  growing  popular  taste  for  quaint 
and  curious  reminiscences  of  "  Te  Olden  Time,"  and  to  meet  this,  Mr. 
Henry  M.  Brooks  has  prepared  a  series  of  interesting  handbooks.  The 
materials  have  been  gleaned  chiefly  from  old  newspapers  of  Boston  and 
Salem,  sources  not  easily  accessible,  and  while  not  professing  to  be  history, 
the  volumes  will  contain  much  material  for  history,  so  combined  and 
presented  as  to  be  both  amusing  and  instructive.  The  titles  of  some  of  the 
volumes  indicate  their  scope  and  their  promise  of  entertainment :  —  "  Curi- 
osities of  the  Old  Lottery,"  "Days  of  the  Spinning  Wheel,"  "Some 
Strange  and  Curious  Punishments,"  ■'  Quaintand  Curious  Advertisements,'* 
"  Literary  Curiosities,"  "  New-England  Sunday,"  etc. 

LIFE   AND   WORKS    OF    MRS.    CLEMMER. 

AN  AMERICAN  WOMAN'S  LIFE  AND  WORK. 

A  Memorial  of  Mary  Clemmer,  by  EDinnn)  Hudson,  with  Portrait. 

POEMS   OF  LIFE  AND  NATURE. 

HIS  TWO   WIVES. 

MEN,    WOMEN,    AND     THINGS.      Revised   and 

augmented. 

The  whole  in  four  12mo  volumes,  tastefully  bound,  forming  a  beauti- 
ful, uniform  set  of  the  selected  works,  together  witli  the  memorial 
biography  of  this  popular  and  lamented  writer. 


20  A  List  of  Boohs  Published  by 


IN   PRESS- 
LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  HENRY  WADSWORTH 

LONGFELLOW  Edited  by  Rev.  Samuel  Longfellow.  2  vols.  12mo. 
S6.00.  .With  new  steel  engraved  Portraits  and  many  wood  Engravings. 
Also  a  limited  Edition  de  luxe,  with  proof  Portraits. 

The  biography  of  the  foremost  American  poet,  written  by  his  brother,  is 
probably  the  most  important  work  of  the  kind  brought  out  in  the  United 
States  for  years.  It  is  rich  in  domestic,  personal,  and  family  interest,  anec- 
dotes, reminiscences,  and  other  thoroughly  charming  memorabilia. 

THE  LIFE  AND  GENIUS   OF  GOETHE.     The  Lee- 

tures  at  the  Concord  School  of  Philosophy,  for  1886.  By  F.  B.  Sanborn, 
W.  T.  Uarris,  and  others.    1  vol.    12mo.    With  portrait.    $2.00. 

ITALIAN  POETS.    By  W.  D.  Howells.     12mo.    fl.50. 

Biographical,  and  Critical  Notices  of  the  masters  of  Italian  poetry. 

A    SEA     CHANGE ;    or,   Love's    Stowaway.      A   Comic 

opera.    By  W.  D.  Howells.    1  vol.    16mo.    Little-Classic  size. 

THE  VIRGINIA  CAMPAIGN  OF  GENERAL  POPE 

IN  1862.  Being  Volume  II.  of  Papers  read  before  the  Military  Hi.storioal 
Society  of  Massachusetts.    With  Maps  and  Plans.    1  vol.    8vo.    $3.00. 

THE     YOUNG    PEOPLE'S     TENNYSON.     Students' 

Edition.  1  vol.  16mo.  Edited,  with  Notes  and  Introduction,  by  W.  J. 
Rolfe.    Beautifully  illustrated.    75  cents. 

SELECT    POEMS    OF    TENNYSON.      Second    Part. 

Students'  Edition.  Edited,  with  Notes  and  Introduction,  by  W.  J.  Bolla, 
1  vol.    16mo.    Beautifully  illustrated.    75  cents. 

SONGS  AND  BALLADS  OF  THE  OLD  PLANTA- 
TIONS, BY  UNCLE  REMUS.  By  Joel  Chandleb  Harris.  1  voL 
12mo.    »1.50. 

"  Uncle  Remus's  "  legends  have  created  a  strong  demand  for  his  songs, 
■which  will  be  eagerly  welcomed. 

A   ROMANTIC  YOUNG  LADY.     By  Robert  Grant, 

author  of  "  The  Confessions  of  a  Frivolous  Girl,"  "  An  Average  Man,"  etc. 
1  vol.     12mo.     $1.50. 

This  is  the  latest  and  one  of  the  strongest  works  of  the  sucressful  deline- 
ator of  modern  society  life  and  manners  It  will  be  read  eagerly  and 
enjoyably  by  thousands  of  lovers  of  the  best  fiction. 

A    NEW   AND    ENLARGED    CONCORDANCE    TO 

THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.    By  Rev.  J.  B.  R.  Walker. 

This  monumental  work  of  patient  industry  and  iron  diligence  is  indispen- 
sable to  all  students  of  the  Bible,  to  which  it  is  the  key  and  introduction. 
Many  errors  and  omissions  in  the  plans  of  the  older  Concordances  have 
been  avoided  in  this  one,  which  also  bears  reference  to  the  Revised  Bible, 
as  well  as  to  the  Kiag-James  version. 


Tichnor  and  Company.  21 


THE 

MEMORIAL  HISTORY  OF  BOSTON, 

In  Four  Volumes.    Quarto. 

With  more  than  600  Illustrations  by  famous  artists  and  engravers,  all 
made  for  this  work. 

Edited  by  JUSTIN  WIN  SO R,  Librabiah  or  Habvabd  Ukivrbsitt. 

Among  the  contributors  are :  — 

QoT.  John  D.  Lono,  Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes, 

Hon.  Charles  Krancis  Adams,  Johx  O.  Whtttixr, 

Rev.  PuiLUPS  Brooks,  D.D.,  Rev.  J.  F.  Clarke,  D.D., 

Eer.  E.  E.  U.ale,  D.D.,  Rev.  A.  P.  Peabodt,  D.D., 

Hon.  Robert  C   Wikthrop,  Col.  T.  Vf.  Uig6i>'son, 

Hon.  J.  Uammond  Tbcmbull,  Professor  Asa  Orat, 

Admiral  O.  H.  Pkeblb,  Oen.  F.  W.  PiiLFRET, 
UsiniT  Cabot  Lodge. 


Volume  I.  treats  of  the  Geology,  Fauna,  and  Flora ;  the  Voyages  and  Maps  of 
the  Northmen,  Italians,  Captain  John  Smith,  and  the  Plymouth  Settlers  ; 
the  Blassacbusetts  Company,  PuritanLtm,  and  the  Aborigines ;  the  Lit- 
erature, Life,  and  Chief  Families  of  the  Colonial  Period. 

Vol.  II.  treats  of  the  Royal  Governors ;  French  and  Indian  Wars ;  Witches 
and  Pirates ;  The  Iteligion,  Literature,  Customs,  and  Ciiief  FamiUes  of  Uw 
Provincial  Period. 

Vol.  III.  treats  of  the  Revolutionary  Period  and  the  Conflict  around  Boston ; 
and  the  Statesmen,  Sailors,  and  Soldiers,  the  Topography,  Literature,  and 
Life  of  Boston  during  tliat  time ;  and  also  of  the  Last  Hundred  Years' 
History,  the  War  of  1812,  Abolitionism,  and  the  Press. 

Vol.  rv.  treats  of  the  Social  Life,  Topography,  and  Landmark.s,  Industries, 
Commerce,  Railroads,  and  Financial  History  of  this  Century  in  Boston ; 
with  Monographic  Chapters  on  Boston's  Libraries,  Women,  Science,  Art, 
Unsic,  Philosophy,  Architecture,  Charities,  etc. 

%*  Sold  by  subscription  only.     Send  for  a  Prospectus  to  the 
Publishers, 

TICKNOR    AND    COMPANY,    Boston. 


22  A  List  of  Books  Published  by 

THE  STUDENTS'   SERIES  OF 

STANDARD    POETRY. 

EDITED   BY  W.  J.  ROLFE,  A.M. 

1^"  All  these  books  are  equally  suited  to  the  use  of  the  student,  and  that  of 
the  general  reader.  They  should  have  a  place  in  erery  library,  public  or  private. 
Price  75  cents  each. 


I.    SCOTT'S  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 

The  text  is  correctly  printed  for  the  first  time  in  fifty  years.  Theno^es 
(88  pp.)  include  Scott's  and  Lockhart's,  and  are  fuller  than  in  any  other 
edition,  English  or  American.  The  illustrations  are  mainly  of  the  scenery 
of  the  poem,  from  sketches  made  on  the  spot. 

il.  TENNYSON'S  THE  PRINCESS. 

The  notes  (50  pp. )  give  the  history  of  the  poem ,  all  the  readings  of  the 
earlier  editions,  selected  comments  by  the  best  English  and  American 
critics,  full  explanations  of  all  allusions,  &c.  The  illtistrations  are  from 
the  elegant  Holiday  edition. 

in.  SELECT  POEMS  OF  TENNYSON. 

Including  the  Lady  of  Sbalott,  the  Miller's  Daughter,  (Enone,  the  Lotos- 
Eaters,  The  Palace  of  Art,  A  Dream  of  Fair  Women,  Morte  d'Arthur,  The 
Talking  Oak,  Ulysses,  Locksley  Hall,  The  Two  Voices,  St.  Agnes'  Eve,  Sir 
(Galahad,  The  Brook,  &c.  The  text  is  from  the  latest  English  edition  (1884). 
The  notes  (50  pp.)  include  a  careful  collation  of  the  earlier  editions,  with 
explanatory  and  critical  comments.  The  illustrations  are  of  high  char- 
acter. 

IV.  SCOTT'S  MARMION. 

With  copious  Notes  and  introductory  matter.  The  text  is  now  correctlj 
printed /or  the  first  time. 

V.  THE  YOUNG  PEOPLE'S  TENNYSON.   (In  Prms.) 

VL  SELECT    POEMS  OF   TENNYSON.    Second  Part.    (InPmss.) 


TREMONT  EDITIONS.  Each  in  1  vol.  16mo.  Beautifully  illustrated. 
With  red  lines,  bevelled  boards,  and  gilt  edges,  $2.50.  Half-calf,  $4.00. 
Antique  morocco,  flexible  calf,  flexible  seal,  or  tree-calf,  $6.00. 

Lacile.      The  Princess.      Hsrmlon.      The  Lady  of  the  L»ke. 


POCKET  EDITIONS.  Each  in  1  vol.  Little-Classic  size.  With  thirty  Illus- 
trations. Elegantly  bound,  $1.00.  •  Half-calf,  $2  25.  Antique  morocco,  or 
flexible  calf  or  seal,  $3.00.    Tree-calf,  83.50. 

Lucile.      The  Princess.      Harmlon.       The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 


Ticknor  and  Company.  23 


THE    CHOICEST    EDITIONS 


FIVE    GREAT    MODERN    POEMS. 


Drawn  and  engraved  ander  the  care  of  A.  V.  S.  Anthony.  Each  in 
one  volume,  8vo,  elegantly  bound,  with  full  gilt  edges,  in  a  neat  box. 
Each  poem,  in  cloth,  $6.00  ;  in  tree  calf,  or  antique  morocco,  $10.00: 
in  crushed  levant,  extra,  with  silk  linings,  $25.00.  Copiously  illustrated 
after  drawings  by  Thomas  Moran,  E.  H.  Garrett,  Harry  lenn,  A.  B. 
Frost,  and  other  distinguished  artists. 

CHILDE     HAROLD. 

The  choicest  gift-book  of  1885.  With  more  than  100  noble  Illustra- 
tions, of  great  artistic  value  and  beauty,  representing  the  splendid 
scenery  and  architecture  of  the  Rhine,  Greece,  Italy,  etc. 

THE     PRINCESS. 

The  most  famous  poem  of  Alfked,  Lukd  Tennyson.  With  120 
new  and  beautiful  Illustrations. 

"  The  most  superb  book  of  tbe  Reason.  The  exquisite  binding  makes  a  fit 
fseket  for  Tennyeon's  enchantiug  '  Princess.'  "  —  Hartford  Journal. 

THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE. 

A  superb  fine-art  edition,  with  120  Illustrations.  The  choicest  edition 
of  Scott's  wonderful  poem  of  Scottish  chivalrj'. 

"  On  page  after  page  are  seen  the  gtetX  dome  of  Bon-an  rising  in  mid-air,  hnge 
Ben-venue  throwing  his  shadowed  masses  upon  the  lakeH,  and  the  loog  heights  of 
Ben  Lomond  hemming  the  horizon."  — Atlantic  Monthly. 

LUCILE. 
By  Owen  Meredith.    With  160  Illustrations. 
The  high  peaks  of  the  Pyrenees,  the  golden  valleys  of  the  Khineland, 
and  the  battle-swept  heights  of  the  Crimea. 

"  This  new  edition  is  simply  perfect  —  paper,  type,  printing,  and  especially  the 
illustrations,  —  a  most  charmiug  Christmas  gift."  —  American  Literary 
Churchman. 

MARMION. 
With  more  than  100  Illustrations,  and  Borders. 
"  Wild  Scottish  beauty.    Never  had  a  poem  of  stately  and  immortal  beauty  a 
more  flldng  setting."  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 


For  Sale  by  Booksellers.    Sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  qf  price,  by  the 

Publishers, 

TICKNOR    AND    COMPANY,    Boston. 


THE 

AMERICAN   ARCHITECT 

AND    BUILDING   NEWS. 

An  Illustrated  Weekly  Joomal  of  Architecture  and  the  Building  Trades. 

Each  number  is  accompanied  by  six  fine  quarto  illustrations,  while 
illustrative  cuts  are  liberally  used  in  the  text.  Although  the  paper 
addresses  itself  primarily  to  architects  and  builders,  by  its  discussions 
upon  matters  of  interest  common  to  those  engaged  in  building  pursuits, 
it  is  the  object  of  the  editors  to  make  it  acceptable  and  necessary  to 
that  large  portion  of  the  educated  classes  who  are  interested  in  and 
appreciate  the  importance  of  good  architectural  surroundings,  to  civil 
and  sanitary  engineers,  draughtsmen,  antiquaries,  craftsmen  of  all  kinds, 
and  all  intelligent  readers. 

As  an  indication  of  the  feeling  with  which  this  journal  is  regarded 
by  the  profession,  we  quote  the  following  extract  from  a  report  of  a  com- 
mittee of  the  American  Institute  of  Architects  upon  "  American  Archi- 
tectural Journals  ":  — 

"At  Boston,  Mass.,  is  issued  the  American  ARcarrEcr  and  Builsikq 
News,  a  weeUly  of  the  first  class,  and,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  the  only 
journal  in  this  country  that  can  compare  farorably  with  the  great  Londoa 
architectural  publications.  It  is  very  liberally  illustrated  with  full-page  litho- 
graphic impressions  of  the  latest  designs  of  our  most  noted  architects,  and  with 
occasional  views  of  celebrated  European  buildings.  Once  a  month  a  fine  gelatine 
print  is  issued  in  a  special  edition.  Its  editorial  department  is  conducted  in  a 
scholarly,  courteous,  and,  at  the  same  time,  independent  tone,  and  its  selections 
made  with  excellent  judgment.  It  is  the  accepted  exemplar  of  American  archi- 
tectural practice,  and  is  found  in  the  office  of  almost  every  architect  in  the 
Union."  —  April  15, 1885.  

Subscription  Prices.    (In  Advance.) 

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Monthly  Edition  (identical  with  the  first  weekly  issue  for  each 
month,  but  containing  no  Gelatine  Prints).  —  $1.75  per  year;  Sl.OO  per 
half  year. 

Bound  volumes  for  1876, 1877, 1878,  1879, 1880,  1881,  $10.50;  1882, 
1883,  1884,  and  1885,  $9.00  each. 

Specimen  numbers  and  advertising  rates  famished  on  application  to 
the  publishers, 

TICKNOR   AND    COMPANY, 

211  7REM0N7  STREET,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


7 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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